


mama (don't make me cry)

by Lara_03



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Study, Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Self Destructive Behaviour, Self Harm, Unreliable Narrator, and hugging, and some fluff, kinda a character study more than anything, please heed all the tags, there are soft moments i swear, this is unlikely to ever be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lara_03/pseuds/Lara_03
Summary: Re-posting this after a lot of time and thought. It will likely never be finished, but I believe people found something in this story the first time I put it up here, and if they would like to re-read it I would like them to be able to.In which Lucas' home life is far worse than he lets on, and he is struggling to come to terms with himself on ground that is far from stable.Or Papa Lallemant is a bag of dicks, and other issues Lucas has to deal with.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

Lucas doesn’t know what to do.

Feels as if he’s 13 again, hiding in a literal closet rather than the metaphorical one he’s just been ejected from.

He can remember, in vivid detail, the rough texture of the jacket sleeve he’d used to dry his eyes while his mama hurled objects at walls. While his papa screamed. While his whole world fell apart.

It was the first, but far from the last time this would happen.

Back then, he hadn’t understood that she had no intention to harm him. That it was just her brain telling her things that weren’t true.

His papa had explained to him that, when she acted strangely or yelled at thin air, she was just stressed. That as long as he didn’t do anything bad, anything that would stress her out, she would be fine. And so, it had become true, at least in his mind, that if he was good then she wouldn’t hurt him or herself.

He had decided then and there to be the best son he could. To do everything and anything to keep her happy and safe. Bury everything he could deep down and take on the world to make her better.

By the time he’d finally realised his mama was more than just stressed, that she needed more help than he could provide, his papa had fucked off with his new girlfriend and left him to deal on his own.

It didn’t take long for everything to come crashing down.

For several months he’d coped as well as he could on his own. Lapped up the moments when his mother was lucid and loving like he was starved. Hid away every sharp object they owned whenever she wasn’t. Kept quiet and distant when she couldn’t see anything but the monster inside him.

It had been as if they were each performing a precarious balancing act. One that would only end when either or both of them finally plunged off the edge.

And then one night, they had.

It started off as a normal evening. He’d cooked for them both, knowing neither of them would eat. Had then called his papa, asked about money. About the fact there wasn’t enough of it. Not enough for food or the bus or the medication mama had been recommended.

As usual, it quickly devolved into a screaming match. Papa saying that his mother should be giving him money for food and the bus, Lucas responding that he knew she couldn’t, that she needed professional help like the doctor had said, that she could get it if he would finally admit she was ill and pay someone to make her better.

The problem was, it hadn’t been a lucid day. The yelling had agitated mama and she’d sought the first viable solution to stop it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d thrown a glass at his head. He’d been a victim of her delusion-based violence before, when she would grip his wrist until it bruised to keep the devil from taking him, throw anything she could get her hands on in his direction because she didn’t recognise him.

But it was the first time his papa called an ambulance when he’d stopped responding after the glass had shattered against his skull.

By the time he’d woken up in hospital the next day, his mama had already been shipped off to a clinic.

He knew it was where she needed to be, that she needed treatment only they could provide. But he hadn’t wanted it to be like this. He didn’t want to have been the reason she finally did something so crazy his father was forced into action. He didn’t want to be discharged from hospital and into the custody of his papa. And yet there he’d been, packing the bare essentials in preparation for his new life.

He’d deluded himself for a short while after that. Hadn’t told anyone what had happened. Slept on his father’s couch. Listened as the family he’d been replaced with whispered how unwelcome he was. Waited patiently for it to finally get better, like he’d always believed it would when his mama got treatment.

But it hadn’t. After weeks of waiting it had only gotten worse.

His mama was doing well, taking to the treatment better than he could have dared hope. He visited her every Friday, told his papa he was going out with his friends, told his friends he was staying home to do work.

It should have been fine, good even, but Lucas was falling apart.

His dad hadn’t wanted him there. Had a new life that Lucas wasn’t meant to be a part of, that he had made space in only out of obligation.

He could feel his father’s resentment growing every time his new family complained that he’d used all the hot water, that they couldn’t watch the tv because he was sleeping on the sofa, that the table was too cramped to eat comfortably with him there.

He had been solving this small issue in the only way he could. Going out at each and every opportunity he was presented.

Party invitation? He was first there and stayed to clean up. Day with the boys? Of course he didn’t have plans, doesn’t mind that their eating somewhere he hates. Nothing to do? He’d stay late at school to do homework. Empty weekend? He could walk around Paris until his legs stopped feeling like his own.

He’d kept assuring himself this was only temporary, only until his mama was well enough to come home again. Until his thin façade had finally fallen apart.

It was something stupid, in the end. He should have known better, been more careful, but he was so fucking tired. Hadn’t managed more than three hours sleep for the last four nights. And so, he’d handed his phone to his father so he could copy his mama’s new number, not having a second thought about it until it was too late.

“Lucas, what the hell is this?” his papa had questioned, tone even and steely.

He hadn’t quite registered the question immediately. Hadn’t processed what it meant, what unclosed tabs there were to encounter. And then he had, and his breath had caught as he stood in shocked silence, waited for the inevitable blow up.

When nothing happened for several long moments he’d finally opened his mouth to force an explanation from his uncooperative tongue. Something, anything, to stop this from happening.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Shit, how cliché could he get?

“Then what is it? What else could it possibly be?” His father’s voice had become raised then, not yelling, but barely restrained from doing so. “Because it looks as if you like boys. As if you want them to do this…this stuff to you. Do you want that Lucas? Are you attracted to other _men_?”

He knew he should have answered no, said that he doesn’t, that he isn’t like that, never that. But he can’t force the lie from his lips in that moment. And it is a lie, Lucas can admit that, if only to himself.

He’d stammered for a moment. Trying to form the words that would make it go away, make it all better. But nothing came out.

Then his dad had suddenly been in his space, crowding him and harshly grabbing his shoulders.

“Tell me Lucas, tell me you aren’t gay.”

The anger is overpowering. Lucas could only minutely shake his head in response, too scared, too absolutely terrified to speak.

“Fucking say it!” His breath had been hot on Lucas’ face when he’d yelled, and Lucas had let out a choked sob as he shoved him against the wall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I’m not, I swear I’m not. I’m sorry.” He’d babbled, known he was doing so. Could feel the hot tears on his cheeks, the wet sobs ripping from his throat, couldn’t stop them.

His father had finally let go of his shoulders, moved away. “Jesus, you couldn’t just be normal, could you?” He’d been breathing heavily as he said it, Lucas hadn’t been sure if he was breathing at all.

He’d shaken his head some more, not knowing how else to respond, but his papa hadn’t even seemed to register the action.

“Did your mama know?” He’d demanded, “Is this why she always thought you were a monster? That the devil wanted you for your sins? Did you make her crazy?” and Lucas didn’t know what to say to that, not when he had been asking himself the same question for months.

Papa wasn’t done though, had grabbed him by the throat as he moved forward, back into his space.

“She was fine before she had you. She was fine. I loved her, and you ruined everything! You made her crazy!” The hold on his throat had tightened further, and his breathing accelerated in anticipation of being cut off. “And now I’ve built a new life, but you couldn’t let me have that could you? You had to ruin that to.”

And Lucas had really started to panic then. He knew how to deal with the back handed slaps his dad often dealt, usually when he’d inadvertently mama out. Knew how to deal with flying objects and harsh shoves, too tight grips. But he’d never been faced with asphyxiation.

“Please papa, please, I can’t breathe, please.” He’d managed to gasp out, voice hoarse and whispy. And his dad had actually listened. Had let go almost instantly and backed away to the other side of the room as Lucas tried to even out his breathing.

His dad looked at his hands like they weren’t his own, which also wasn’t new. Every time he’d gotten physical before this had happened. He’d realise what he’d done and be regretful almost immediately, before pretending it never even happened. But Lucas couldn’t deal with that right then.

So he’d pushed off the wall and walked out of the house before his dad could get a word in edgewise. Hadn’t even stopped to grab his keys or jacket before he’d left. And now here he was, crying on his knees, in a street he doesn’t recognise, without a home to go back to.

Lucas doesn’t know what he’s going to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucas returns to the house only two days later.

Does it because he knows he has to.

Yann doesn’t mind him staying over one night, or even several, but the excuse that he’s just avoiding his parents yelling can only fly so far. Especially when Yann is already suspicious about the fact he hasn’t seen either of his parents in months.

He could, of course, go back to his mama’s house. Use the key under the mat to open the door. Has done so before.

Had used the time to sit at their kitchen table in the dark, as if waiting for his mama to magically be well enough to return home, to walk through the door and hug him until he felt safe again. Unfortunately, on the third day he’d stayed there, his social worker had shown up to return him to his father and ask a whole load of questions. It was not an experience he wished to repeat.

It was cruel irony really. He’d spent months alone with his mama wishing his dad would come back to look after them, wishing he hadn’t left them to fend for themselves, hoping he’d realise a fifteen-year-old couldn’t look after their crazy mother. And now, when he’d finally decided his sixteen-year-old son couldn’t fend for himself, it was the very last thing Lucas wanted.

So, Lucas didn’t stay an extra few nights at Yann’s, and he didn’t break back into his mama’s home. Knew both courses of action would only result in the same inevitable return to his enforced residence at his fathers, just with a lot more trouble and questions than if he went back of his own volition.

* * *

It’s before 8 am on a Saturday when he knocks on the door.

Knowing his father’s new family is the sort to wake early, he’d decided to arrive exactly when he knew they’d all be gathering for breakfast in the vain hope of avoiding a one-on-one confrontation with his papa.

The sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor of the dining room soon confirms he’s gotten the timing right, and his heart rate spikes in anticipation as footsteps draw closer to the door.

He has no idea how this will go down. Will his papa throw him out? Has he already told his family? Will he wrap his hands around his throat again?

It’s a bit of an anti-climax then, when all his papa does is look him up and own. Takes in his haggard appearance, same unwashed clothes he’d left in and slightly deeper circles under his eyes, before opening the door wider and beckoning him inside.

When he enters the dining room, his father following closely enough that its unsettling, the family only pauses long enough to give him several confused glances before returning to their conversation as if he weren’t there.

So, his papa hasn’t told them then.

He lets go of a tiny bit of the tension he’d been holding. Thankful that, at the very least, his father hasn’t given his family a new reason to hate him, hasn’t allowed him to ruin this to.

A hand on the small of his back startles him. He’d been studying the rooms reaction so intently he’d forgotten his father was still behind him.

“Eat first, and then we’ll talk.” He speaks close to his ear, quiet enough that no one else can hear.

Lucas’ anxiety returns full force. Talking isn’t good. Talking devolves into shouting which turns into violence. Talking means discussing what’s wrong with him.

He manages to force down a few bites of dry toast, stirs his coffee more than he drinks it, before everyone finally begins to clear the table.

When all but him and his papa have left the room, he goes to take his half empty plate to the kitchen, hoping to delay the inevitable for a few moments longer, but is halted before he’s taken more than three steps.

“Lucas.” His father’s voice is calm, not yet filled with anger, that’s good. “We should talk.” Less good.

 _No, we shouldn’t_ , he thinks, _we should just pretend none of this ever happened. Go back to when your hatred came from much simpler sources._

“Okay.” He hears himself say, allows himself to be proud that the tremble in his voice is barely noticeable.

“I’m sorry.” His papa starts, predictably. He’s prepared for this, nods in acknowledgement, but his papa shakes his head in response.

“No, I’m really sorry.” He continues, “I shouldn’t have laid my hands on you, and I shouldn’t have accused you of being… _that_.” He spits the last word like its venomous.

“What?” Lucas says, because this wasn’t in the script he’d been expecting, he doesn’t know where this is going.

“It was stupid. I know you’re not…you know. Gay. My son would never be gay.” His father continues, and Lucas feels like he might have whiplash, has no idea what’s happening anymore.

“I was just so angry in the moment, couldn’t see clearly. I’m sure there was a completely innocent explanation, a practical joke by the boys I’m sure?” Papa looks him squarely in the eye as he delivers the last line, more of a statement than a question. He nods his head in response anyway, and its enough that his father breaks eye contact, nodding to himself as if he’s just confirmed what he already knew.

“That’s good then, that’s fine.” He gives a slight huff of laughter that Lucas feels too precarious to return. “I’m glad we’ve cleared up this misunderstanding.” He stands as he says it, walking towards him, ignoring the way he flinches back slightly when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

He gives a small smile and walks out of the room, leaving Lucas to stand in shocked relief at his departure.

This was better than he could have hoped for. Feels like a deliverance, an unexpected reprieve. Pretending is a game he knows how to play, one that will be so much easier now his father’s in on it.

He plasters a smile onto his face, gathers the remaining cutlery from the table, and walks towards the kitchen.

* * *

There is a tense silence that builds over the next few weeks. Morphs into something unbearable.

He’d thought things would go back to how they’d been before. That they’d resume their careful dance of giving him just enough attention that he wouldn’t starve, involving him just enough in their lives for it to look natural when he sat at their dinner table. But that hadn’t happened.

His dad wouldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, would only touch him in reprimand for even the slightest misdemeanour, had stopped talking to him almost entirely.

His father’s family could tell something had changed as well, though they gave no indication of knowing exactly what. They didn’t ask, instead just replicated his father’s behaviour, the avoidance, the silence, until he’d begun to feel like a ghost haunting their lives rather than just an unwanted guest.

The desperation had grown from there. Desperation for attention of any kind.

He had been snappy with his friends. Their obliviousness to his struggle grating against his every nerve even as he concealed it from them.

He’d screamed at Yann when he’d asked, not for the first time, when he was hosting the next game night. Had to explain, in a hushed voice, away from the other boys, that his mom was in a clinic now, that he was living with his father, that he couldn’t have people over. He didn’t explain just how awful all of these facts were.

Yann had responded with concern, tried to pry for more details, the how’s, the why’s, the when’s. Had stopped soon enough when every attempt was met with a complete shut-down.

Lucas felt he’d almost shared too much, something that terrified him. The fallout from spilling the full details about his home life would be massive. What would Yann do if he knew how bad of a son he was? How he’d abandoned his mother? Ruined his papa’s life? Surely, he’d start hating him to, realise how much of a terrible person he was, and Lucas wouldn’t survive that.

He’d started going out with the boys less after that. Not ignoring them exactly, just no longer seeking them out as he once had. And if they noticed, they didn’t say anything.

This had the unfortunate consequence of creating a lot of empty evenings for Lucas. He couldn’t stand sitting and wallowing in a house full of people who despised him. Wouldn’t go out with his friends and risk losing them from saying too much. So, he’d started going out alone.

Most nights he just wandered the streets until he found a club that didn’t ask for ID. Had discovered, fairly early on, that if he chose gay bars he could persuade older guys to buy him drinks. A fact that afforded him the ability to get uproariously drunk.

Sometimes this had led to them getting handsy, touching him in ways he didn’t really want to be touched, getting violent when he told them to stop. It wasn’t so bad though, not in exchange for the freedom of alcoholic bliss, and a small part of him basked in the attention they gave.

Occasionally, if they whispered enough soft words in his ear while they poured drinks down his throat, he’d let them use his mouth in a back alley. Had gotten good at not gagging when they were rough. Learnt to savour the moment of enjoyment he got when he first placed his lips on them, before he became nothing but a tool for their pleasure.

His dad never questioned why he sometimes didn’t get back until 4am in the morning. Why he smelt like booze and smoke and sweat when he did. Only asked that he conceal the bruises he returned with, whether they be on his face or his knees. And so it continued.

* * *

Mika came along a lot later in the game than he knew. By the time he’d encountered him that night, Lucas had already drunk more vodka than was probably safe and given the guy who’d bought it a blow job for his trouble. Not to mention that a similar routine had been taking place for some weeks prior.

Now he was being crowded against a cold wall by a stranger, or maybe it was the same guy who’d given him some small blue pills earlier. Either way, he felt sick, and the persons hand beginning to fumble with his belt while they ground against his arse wasn’t helping with the nausea.

“Hey, get the fuck off him!” The exclamation had startled the guy enough that his hands and body were no longer pressing against Lucas’, allowing him enough space to remove his cheek from its uncomfortable position smashed into the wall.

He looked around blearily for a second, trying to get his eyes to focus and the dots to clear from his vision.

“What the fuck dude, he’s just a kid, what the hell were you doing to him?!” The same voice from earlier was back, closer this time.

“Back off man, he said he was 18, its none of your business.” Had he? Lucas didn’t remember that, but he also wasn’t sure if he could remember the year at this point.

“And you believed him, did you?” The newcomer apparently wasn’t letting this go. “Look at his face, he’s probably barely sixteen.” And yeh, true, but also rude, Lucas’ drunken brain supplied.

“Whatever man, he’s not even worth it.” Lucas frowned at that, watched in incomprehension as the guy walked away.

“That was mean.” His words slurred together slightly, the s extending into the m.

“Uh huh, super mean kid.” He pouted, he’d forgotten about the new guy.

“Not a kid.” The protest sounded petulant even to him, but he felt he’d gotten the message across. At least until the guy laughed at him. His pout deepened.

Squinting up to get a proper look at the guy, he finally registers the niggling sense of familiarity that’s been buzzing at the edge of his brain.

“Do I know you?” The question is punctuated by sloping vowels, as if his tongue keeps giving up halfway through the words.

“Oh my god, you’re Lucas, aren’t you?” Lucas still has no idea who the guy is, but that was his name, so he smiled brightly up at him in response.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, giggling because it all suddenly seemed very funny. “That’s me.” He points to himself, making sure the guy understands.

“Jesus, you’re completely off your face.” And now the man, who apparently knows him, is back to being mean. Lucas pouts again. “I’m Manon’s roommate, Mika, we’ve talked on insta a few times?” Mika only sounded vaguely familiar, Manon, however, was very recognisable.

“Manon! Oh, I know her. Do you know her to?” Mika shakes his head, looking slightly exasperated.

“Yeh kid, I just said I’m her roomie.” Lucas didn’t remember that, but it sounded true.

“Oh yeh, I talked to her roommate on insta a few weeks ago.” Hadn’t the guy just told him that? He’s not sure, it doesn’t seem to matter much. Nothing does.

He giggles again at the thought, the alcohol making his cynicism feel hilarious.

“Okay, lets get you home, what’s your address?”

His levity abruptly dissipates. Home.

Where is that now?

Its not his dads house, where he gets to feel like an infestation of rats every time he uses the bathroom too long. Not his moms, not when she’s not there, not after everything that had happened when they’d been alone there or even before that. Yann can only house him so long before there are too many questions he can’t answer.

He doesn’t have anywhere to go.

Mika snaps his fingers in front of his face, the sudden noise and movement enough to produce a flinch, even with all the alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Sorry, you zoned out there for a second. Your address Lucas?”

And shit, his dad has been ignoring his late-night excursions like it’s a sport but showing up this inebriated at 1 am is still likely to get a violent reaction, even with the policy of ignorance. He can’t go back there now, but where else is there…

Mika is waiting impatiently for a response, clearly feeling the cold, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

“I don’t remember.” He blurts.

“What?”

“My address, I don’t remember it.” It’s a panic response. A bad lie to avoid a worse truth. He can see Mika isn’t buying it though, has started to look truly annoyed in the wake of the unconvincing statement.

“Look, please, I can’t go home right now, I’m drunk, and probably high, and my parents won’t like that I’m back so late. Please, I can’t go home right now.”

It’s not the complete truth, but it is closer to it.

“Kid, I’m sure your parents are worried about where you are and just want you home. They won’t care what kind of state you’re in.” He’s smiling kindly as he says it, with the kind of pity used for a child crying over a paper cut. “Whatever reason you had for getting like this in the first place, it probably isn’t half as bad as you think.”

Jesus, he just thinks he’s some dumb kid getting wasted to forget some drama at school. He’s going to take him home and think he did the right thing, that everything will be alright, while Lucas will be truly and completely fucked.

He can feel the tears stinging at the edge of his eyes, a sob rising in his throat.

“No,” he manages to force out the words, “please. You can’t make me go back there. You can’t.”

He backs away until he feels the wall behind him, slides down until he’s seated on the cold, grimy floor.

The only thing he registers is the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Knows he probably seems hysteric, can’t control his breathing. His chest begins to hurt with the force of his racing heart beating against it. Faster and faster and faster, until he thinks he might just die.

He’s not sure if he loses consciousness for a second, but there are suddenly hands on him, forcing his head between his knees, rubbing soothingly against his back.

Lucas focuses on the feeling. Isn’t sure how long he sits there, focusing on only that. Eventually realises he’s breathing normally again, that his heart is no longer trying to escape him.

His head feels like its full of cotton, ears still ringing with white noise, but the world around is finally back in focus. Mika’s lips are moving in front of him, he thinks there should be sound to accompany the movement, tries to hear it past the buzzing in his own head.

“…it’s okay Lucas, you’re okay, just breathe. You’re okay…” He’s repeating the same words over and over, rhythmically, as if he’s been doing it a while. They sound like they’re travelling through water. Lucas nods though, to shows he understands, thinks that must be why he’s repeating them.

“Are you back with me?” And Lucas doesn’t think he went anywhere, but he nods anyway, seemingly unable to form words.

“Okay, that’s good.” He sounds like he genuinely means it, “I’ve called an uber, you can sleep at my place tonight. We’ll talk about why you don’t want to go home tomorrow, when you’re sober, yeh?”

And no, Lucas absolutely does not want to talk about why he doesn’t want to go home, especially not sober. But he nods anyway, because it sounds like Mika isn’t taking him back to his dad this second, and that’s all he cares about.

He falls asleep against Mika’s shoulder almost as soon as the car door is slammed shut, doesn’t recall anything else until he’s waking up in an unfamiliar apartment dressed only in his socks and underwear.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning sun greets him like a bullet to the head.

His mouth feels like he’s gargled lighter fluid at some point and his entire body aches, every cell screaming their protest as he sits up from the…sofa he’d been passed out on.

The blanket that someone must have draped him while he was asleep falls to the side once he’s upright, making him very suddenly aware that he has no shirt on. What the fuck.

He lifts the blanket slightly, thank god he’s still wearing underwear at least, and then registers the person staring at him from across the room.

He hastily covers himself, opens his mouth despite having no idea what he’s going to say. The last thing he recalls is begging someone he’s pretty sure he knew not to take him home, and now he has no clue where he is. If he could just get his dry mouth to work enough to…

The girl beats him to it, yelling through the apartment “Mika, the vomity teenager is awake.”

Jesus she’s loud. His head throbs as he processes the words. That at least explains the horrendous state of his tongue.

The name Mika thankfully sparks something in his memory though, and he’s able to pull together enough of last nights fuzzy events to know he should be eternally thankful for his help.

The man in question comes around the corner, wearing a too bright grin and a pink t-shirt. Lucas has to rub his eyes to make sure he isn’t imagining things. No one should be that happy after a night that ended with a teenager throwing up in their bathroom.

“Hello kitten, so nice of you to join the land of the living.” Lucas scrunches his nose up at the nickname. Where the fuck did that come from? “I’ve made a cup of coffee for you, like the excellent host I am, I’m sure you’d like to drink it before we have a little tête-á-tête.”

The last part is said with a pointed look at the girl across the room, who’s still staring at him, before Mika perches himself on the arm of the sofa and presents Lucas with his promised coffee.

Lucas accepts the cup without a word, reclining back onto the sofa and gratefully sipping at the scolding liquid.

He watches silently over the mugs rim as the other two people in the room have a silent stand-off, Mika’s eyebrows moving energetically as he gesticulates towards the rooms exit. The girl simply raises one brow and crosses her arms in response.

“The room, Lisa. Leave it.” The words are exasperated but fond, “Me and Lucas need to have a private conversation.”

The dramatic eye-roll Lisa gives before departing is enough to make him snort into his coffee cup.

Unfortunately, Mika then turns to him with an infinitely more serious expression on his face, banishing all traces of mirth from the room.

“No.” Lucas says without prompting.

Mika’s brows draw together.

“What do you mean ‘no’, I haven’t even said anything.”

He rolls his eyes at the attempt to play dumb.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.” Mika’s frown deepens, and he stares at Lucas for a few hard seconds.

“Kid, you had a panic attack at the mere suggestion of going home last night. We can’t just not talk about something like that.”

He makes a good point, but Lucas isn’t going to tell him that.

He’s good at telling half-truths. Letting the people closest to him, like Yann, know just enough that they will simply nod their heads and not look too deeply when he’s struggling. Has it down to an art form at this point. But the way this guy’s looking at him, like he knows something, suggests that’s not going to fly.

He’s sure as hell going to try anyway though.

“Look, it’s just stupid teenager stuff.” He begins, “Stuff with my friend and his girlfriend. It just got a bit stressful is all, and my dad would be upset if I came home drunk.”

Mika is shaking his head at him before he’s finished the second sentence.

“Ah ah, nope.” His voice is teasing but there’s an undercurrent of disappointment, “You forget I know Manon. That drama with Emma and Yann has been over for months now. Try again.”

Lucas is suddenly bolt upright again, almost spilling the remaining contents of his cup.

“Fuck, Manon, shit. Where is she? Is she here? She can’t know I’m here? Shit.” His eyes flicker around the room like she’s suddenly going to materialise or something, breathing accelerating ever so slightly and setting off sharp waves of pain in his already sore head.

“Calm down kitten, she’s with her friends, they’re having a girl’s night of some sort.” Lucas can’t help the deep sigh of relief he lets out.

Jesus, that would have been bad. If Manon had seen him here, fucked out of his mind and half naked, that would have been really bad. She would have told Emma, and the girls, and then everybody would know and ask questions and god, it would have been terrible.

“Okay, okay, that’s fine. You can’t tell her I was here though, you have to promise you won’t tell her.” And yes, he sounds a bit desperate, but Mika doesn’t have to keep looking at him like he might snap at any moment because of it.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not going to tell anyone anything. This can stay between us.”

Lucas raises a sceptical eyebrow, Mika huffs in response, sending him an exasperated smile.

“I held your hair back while you threw up last night, that makes us like, best friends or something.” The exasperated look morphs into something more serious and sincere, “You can trust me.”

He’s not sure what to do with such a genuine offer of kindness and discretion. Doesn’t want to respond with the usual sugar-coated version of his home life, the assurances that things are getting better. Actually finds himself wanting to tell this almost complete stranger the truth.

“I..I…My dad, he, uh...he doesn’t want me in the house. His house…or my moms actually. I, umm, I think he would’ve been really angry, if I’d come back in the state I was last night. I mean, he’s usually angry when I come back, but he’ll just ignore me cus it’s easier than dealing with, ya know, all the shit I put him through, but I think he would have done something if I’d gone back last night, I don’t think he’d ignore it.”

He’s a little breathless by the end of the sentence, having rushed through to get it all out. Mika is looking at him with a great deal of concern now.

“What do you mean ‘done something’ Lucas?” the question is loaded and careful, the kind there is a wrong answer to. He knows what the wrong answer is in this case, knows because his papa has warned him about how people will over react when they hear it.

“Just like, yelling and stuff, taking away my phone.” It comes out a bit fast, and he can tell Mika’s not buying it. “He’s never, like, punched me or anything.” He takes care to say it slower this time, make it sound convincing.

Technically, it’s even true. His father has never punched him. He’s just using this fact to falsely imply he’s never done anything else either.

It must sound believable enough, because Mika drops it, looking slightly relieved.

“Right, so you and your dad don’t get along,” understatement of the century, “what about your mom?”

The question hits him like a sucker punch for some reason. Maybe it’s the guilt. He’s missed the last two Friday visits.

Inexplicably his chin begins to wobble, tears welling. Mika’s eyes widen.

“Shit, sorry, wrong question obviously.” He sounds truly apologetic.

“No, I’m sorry, I just, I miss her. And she’s right there, but not really, and I’ve been such a bad son to her that I don’t know if I can ever make it right. I love her so much, but I just couldn’t handle it, you have to understand, I couldn’t take it.” It comes from somewhere deep inside him, emotions he’s been burying since mama first got admitted to the clinic welling up. He looks at Mika imploringly, willing him to understand that he’d tried to help her, he really, truly had.

There are arms around him before he registers Mika has moved, pulling him securely against a solid chest, letting him to sob into his soft shirt.

“It’s okay kitten, I know, I’m sure you did everything you could. You’re okay, just let it out.”

It’s been so long since he’s been held like this. Had someone telling him it was all going to be okay. It sets off a whole new round of tears, the fact he’s being allowed to have this, this thing that he’s been craving for months now, maybe even years.

Lucas collapses into Mika’s hold, soaking up the comfort like a sponge, and doesn’t move away until his tears dry up.

“Thank you. I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He receives a grin in response.

“This old thing? Nothing to worry about.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a hesitant smile at the obvious lie.

“I guess I should get going then.” He huffs out an awkward laugh in an attempt to clear the heavy atmosphere. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom to clean up a bit first?”

“Yeh, of course, but where are you planning on going?” the question is coloured with genuine confusion.

“Umm, my dads house. He doesn’t care about my not coming home all night or anything, not unless I disrupt his family by being obvious about it, or not being there when the social worker visits.”

“What? Why is there a social worker involved? Are they worried about your safety?” and yeh, okay, bringing up the involvement of child protection probably wasn’t the best way to convince someone it was fine for you to go home.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I ran away a couple times when my dad first got custody, went back to mama’s even though she’s at the clinic now.” This does nothing to quell the concern forming on Mika’s face. “Seriously, it’s fine, they ignore me mostly, unless I’m causing trouble.”

“You know neglect is a problem social workers help with, right? And only acknowledging you when they’re mad could be seen as a form of abuse, even if there isn’t anything physical. It’s stuff people can do something about if you let them know.”

He frowns at that. His dad isn’t neglectful or abusive, he’s just trying really hard not to let Lucas ruin the new life he’s built. Sure, he isn’t father of the year or anything, but the worst thing he’s ever done is not getting any help for his mom when she first needed it.

“He isn’t neglectful. There’s always food for me and everything, he even sends someone to find me if I’m gone for more than a few days.”

Mika’s eyes have taken on a soft pitying look.

“Okay kitten, if you say so. Go wash up, I’ll order an uber to take you home.”

He smiles gratefully and goes to get up, but Mika’s hand on his arm stops him. He looks at him in silent question.

“Just, if you ever need anything, a place to stay or someone to talk to, you’re welcome here. Okay?”

“Okay.” The offer settles a small smile on his face, one that actually reaches his eyes, and he wanders off to where he vaguely remembers the bathroom being.

* * *

The house seems quiet when the uber drops him off, but it’s already past 12 in the afternoon so he assumes everyone is already up.

It’s a Saturday, so he isn’t immediately alarmed when he notes the extra car in the drive way. Danielle, his father’s girlfriend, often has people over on the weekends to talk about Tupperware and yoga or whatever the fuck it is, so he isn’t concerned about the car’s presence. Not until he unlocks the door and recognises the voice of his social worker coming from the kitchen.

Shit.

He shuts the door quietly behind him, slipping off his vomit speckled shoes so he can make as little sound as is possible walking on the wooden floor. He’s wearing one of Mika’s shirts, having ruined his own, but there were no shoes he could borrow on account of their different foot sizes.

The door to the kitchen isn’t completely open, so as long as no one is looking he thinks he can slip by unnoticed.

He’s almost made it to the stairs when his father’s voice calls out.

“Lucas, get in here.” He sounds cordial, but there is restrained anger beneath the friendly tone.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath as he slowly turns to see his father standing in the hallway.

Lucas stares at him with wide eyes, searching for any indication of exactly how much shit he’s in. Finds nothing but a carefully constructed mask of hospitality.

Not wanting to see if things can possibly get any worse, he hurries into the kitchen, glancing around to see all three household members assembled at the table along with the social worker, sipping from various beverages. This is going to be such a mess.

“We were just telling Mari how we’d let you stay the night at a friend’s, you must have forgotten you had to get back early since she was coming.” The words are sharp, spoken with a smile.

“Yes, uhh, my phone died, and I didn’t have a charger, so the alarm didn’t go off.” It’s technically true, his phone had died, but there had been no alarm. There’ll probably be a lot of missed calls when he gets around to charging it.

Mari smiles kindly at him across the room, “Not to worry, these things happen.” She turns to his father, “Do you mind if I have a word alone with Lucas?” which, what the fuck, why?

His dad nods in acquiescence, giving him a significant look before he tilts his head at Danielle and they all depart.

He fidgets, tugging on his jackets sleeves and shuffling his socked feet against the tiles. This is new, and it’s making him feel very uneasy.

Now they are alone Mari is studying him with an openly concerned gaze, taking in wrinkled jeans and the graze high on his cheek bone from where he’d been pressed against a wall the previous night.

“Why is your dad lying about where you’ve been?”

The question takes him by complete surprise.

“What?”

“You’re obviously hungover,” he goes to protest but she shushes him, “I don’t care that you’ve been drinking, at least not as much as I care that you’ve obviously been somewhere unsafe,” she gestures at his cheek, “and that your dad seems more concerned with convincing me you’ve been with a friend than finding out where you actually were and what happened.”

He stares at her, open mouthed, wondering if she’s been piecing together his situation all this time and has only now decided to say something.

“I…I was, umm, at a friends party. Got pretty drunk, you know, was a bit clumsy is all. I’m sure papa just doesn’t want you to know I was drinking.”

She sighs, as if she knew that was how he was going to respond but is still somehow disappointed.

“Okay. I’ll have to take your word for it then.” She starts gathering her paperwork from the table. “I’ve already gone through all the official stuff with your dad, so I’ll be off now.”

She smiles at him and heads towards the door. Pauses before she opens it and turns to face him, meeting his eyes.

“I know it’s hard, and we want to see the best in our family, but I can only help you if you talk to me Lucas. So please call if you need to talk, about anything at all, you have the number.” And with that she leaves, calling goodbyes to everyone as she heads to the front door and lets herself out

At the sound of her car starting up Lucas lets out a sigh, closing his eyes and slumping against the counter.

It’s been taking up so much of his energy lately, pretending things are alright, and it’s apparently not even working that well anymore. It almost makes him crave summer, when he won’t have to see his friends most days, despite how much he loves them. And then he remembers, summer also means he won’t be able to escape the house as much, leave early and come back late like he’s a diligent student rather than just someone who fucking hates their home.

Footsteps break him from his reverie, and suddenly there isn’t enough air in the room to fill his lungs.

He knows his father’s in the room now. Will have told his new family to stay in the living room while they ‘talk’ so they won’t see him angry. But he just can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet.

“Stand up straight and look at me Lucas.” His spine snaps up like a Pavlovian response, eyes coming to rest where his dad stands less than a foot away. The tone is barbed and authoritative, still blessedly restrained in volume though.

“I told you two weeks ago that this was happening, that you needed to be here. Yet you stumble in past noon, wearing clothes that aren’t your own, with half your face scraped off, as if that’s acceptable.” He’s stepped closer now, using his extra inches to crowd Lucas against the counter, forcing him to either strain his neck to maintain eye contact or look at the ground. He chooses the latter.

“Do you even know what happens if they think I’m not taking care of you well enough?” And yes, he does know, reminds himself of it religiously when he feels like breaking. “You don’t get to go back to your mother, you don’t get to hole up at your friends house, you get put with some stranger. And then another, once they realise there’s something wrong with you. And then another and another and another. And they won’t let you get away with your late-night excursions like I do, and they won’t understand it’s a joke if they find stuff on your phone. We’ve been so accommodating to you, given you a place to sleep, somewhere to wash, somewhere to eat. All you have to do is not lie and exaggerate things to that woman every few weeks.”

Lucas had tensed every inch of his body the second his dad’s arms started moving to exemplify his point.

“I swear I didn’t say anything, I swear I didn’t.” It comes out in hiccups, he needs to get a grip.

“Then why the fuck did she want to talk to you alone?” He’s grabbed a hold of his wrist now, is pressing it painfully into the counter.

“I don’t know, please, you’re hurting me, I don’t know.”

He lets go of him like he’s been burned.

“You’re fine.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself. “I barely touched you, stop being so dramatic.” Lucas just nods, hopes it’s the response his dad wants.

“Just go and get changed, you look like you slept on the street.” Lucas just nods again, wordlessly darts past his father and up the stairs.

He locks the door to the bathroom and hyperventilates. Forces himself to calm down by pulling on his own hair. Feels completely detached as he unzips the duffel bag behind the door, the one that contains most of his worldly possessions, and methodically withdraws a fresh set of clothes. Stares at them for a long moment before breathing out a steady stream of air.

Jesus Christ. His life’s a fucking mess.


	4. Chapter 4

Things, somehow, actually get better after that.

Mika finds him at the same bar where he’d first met him three more times before Lucas drunkenly admits he’s only really there because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go on the nights it gets too much. This results in an odd invitation whereby he’s allowed stay in the flat whenever Manon isn’t there, and Mika will come smuggle him into the basement when she is.

The arrangement is the best thing that’s happened to him in years. It’s given him a safe place that isn’t either school or somewhere he’ll get asked intensely prying questions if he stays over two nights in a row. Most of his belongings are now stored behind a jumble of pipes in Mika’s building, and so long as he returns to his house by seven each morning his father’s content to ignore Lucas entirely.

The only real down side is that, now he isn’t get drunk and high off his face most nights, he has to confront the reality that straight guys don’t usually suck dick. And he has.

Admittedly, it was usually out of a sense of obligation. They bought him drinks, he gave them a blowie out back, simple quid pro quo.

Yet still, other than the scarce few times people had taken payment into their own hands, he’d almost always been the one who’d offered. Had even done so, once or twice, when he was fairly the certain the guy wouldn’t have blinked an eye at receiving nothing more than a kiss. Because, in truth, when they didn’t force themselves so deep down his throat he had to swallow to keep from choking or suppress his gag reflex at their uncontrolled thrust, Lucas really liked giving head.

And he hated himself for it.

Gay people liked doing that sort of thing. Liked watching gay porn and putting the tip of a finger up their own ass while they masturbated. Liked watching attractive men in night clubs or coffee shops. And Lucas liked those things to, but he couldn’t be gay.

So, he makes a mental list to justify it. Yes, he likes sucking dick, but if he doesn’t jack off for a week, and rubs a bit of coke into his gums beforehand, he can come by fucking a girl. Yes, he likes watching gay porn, but he can get off to straight porn as well, never mind that it’s usually the kind involving pegging. Yes, he likes watching attractive men, but he talks to his friends about this girl’s breasts or that girl’s ass, has even dated a woman.

When he goes to parties he almost always ends the night by hooking up. Play a perfect game in front of his friends, then either runs before they transition past over the clothes action or retreats conspicuously into an unoccupied room hoping he can get it up, blaming it on the alcohol when he can’t. He’d probably be called a slut for it if he was a girl, but he couldn’t care less as long as it keeps people thinking he’s as straight as they come.

He knows there’s nothing wrong with being gay. Mika’s gay and he’s great, has the kind of confidence that makes Lucas burn with envy, but he can’t be gay himself. Not if he wants to keep this life he’s so carefully built, with his friends and his mother, his father featuring only as a background character.

The lies still build and fester in his mind though. Filling him with guilt and disgust at his own deception.

Sometimes he doesn’t go to his fathers after school. Goes straight to the thin mattress laid out on Mika’s basement floor and doesn’t eat until the next afternoon. Misses Friday visits with his mama when he finds his eyes lingering to long on some guys arse during the week, feeling too filled with self-loathing at his lack of control to face her.

* * *

It’s almost the end of his first year at high school when he stops seeing his parents all together.

He shows up to the clinic one Friday to find his father there having been called in to consult after his mother had a bad episode, as if he gave a shit about her.

They’d sat on either side of her in near silence. Lucas cradling one her hands in both of his, his father with his chair pressed against the far wall as if her condition was contagious.

“I think you should stop seeing her. The nurses said you’re here most weeks.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but Lucas’ head snaps up like he’s been electrocuted.

“What? Why? She needs me, she’s always so happy to see me. You don’t know what she’s like on her good days.”

And it’s true, or at least he thinks it is. On the good days, which often outnumber the bad since she began treatment, they talk like they haven’t in years. About school, about her new friends at the clinic, about how guilty they both are over what they’d done when she wasn’t in treatment.

“She doesn’t need you Lucas. She needs medical help. She needs to not be stressed by you showing up here every week. It’s not fair to either of you. You shouldn’t have to visit your crazy mother.”

He’s feeling agitated now, self-doubt and anger building in his gut.

“I _want_ to visit her. She’s my mom. I love her. She’s happy when I visit.”

His father lets out a derogatory huff.

“She’s crazy. She doesn’t know what she wants, doesn’t know how she feel-“

Lucas cuts him off, voice raising to be heard over him.

“How would you know?! You’re never even here. You were never even there when she really needed you, you just up and buried your head in the sand with your new perfect family leaving me to deal with it. And I was as well, dealing with it. I made sure she didn’t hurt herself, that we didn’t starve, but then you had to come swooping in like a fucking saviour when I got hurt, like you didn’t know it was happening before that.”

“Lucas, I didn-“ He carries on like he hasn’t heard him.

“Even that backfired though. Because now you have to deal with me disrupting your perfect little life while mama gets the treatment she would have gotten years ago if you’d just fucking done something when you were supposed to. And now you want to tell me when I should and shouldn’t see her? Like you know anything about either of us anymore?”

His chest is heaving by the end of it, staring at his father from where he now stands above his mama’s sleeping form. She would have woken if she wasn’t sedated.

His dad stays seated, hands calmly folded in his lap. It would be infuriating if he wasn’t used to his cold indifference.

“The nurses say she’s always upset after you’ve visited. She won’t talk to them about why.” He says it like he’s talking to a child, like he has to say it slowly, so he’ll understand. “You’re not good for her Lucas. She just doesn’t want to say it because you’re her son.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, like he’s just taken a blow to the gut. Feels his cheeks grow damp as he stares in incomprehension at his dad.

He hadn’t known. No one had told him his visits upset her. He’d though she’d always been thrilled to see him, but he’d actually been making her worse.

He collapses back into the chair, legs suddenly too weak to hold him.

“I think you should stop coming back to my house so often as well. I know you don’t want to be there, and having you is starting to stress Danielle out. The social worker only comes every few months now, so as long as you’re there for those visits it’ll be fine. I’ll even start putting some money in your bank account for food and stuff as well, so don’t worry about that.” He’s smiling as he says it, as if he’s giving Lucas some kind of gift.

The laugh he lets out borders on hysterical.

“Are you not even going to ask me if I’ve got somewhere to stay? Just, here’s some money, be thankful I’m not making you live with people who despise you anymore because my new girlfriend isn’t feeling peachy? What the fuck?”

The smile falls from his father’s face.

“Danielle’s been nothing but kind to you Lucas, and these last few months have been very hard on her, I’d appreciate if you showed some respect.”

He’s making a weird half giggle half sobbing that sound that surely makes him seem insane, can’t seem to stop himself.

“That’s the part you chose to focus on? Do you even hear yourself? You know what, I don’t even care. Fine, I won’t come back to your house anymore. I’ll come pick up the last of my stuff when you transfer me enough to cover food and rent for the month, about 800€ should cover it, don’t you think?”

His dads looking at him in shock. He’s never stood up to him like this before, never had the courage to, always felt to at fault.

“I think I’ll decide how much of my own money I’m going to send you Lucas.” He’s composed himself quickly.

Lucas lets out a snort.

“Not if you don’t want me telling the social worker you kicked me out.” And then stands to leave.

His father is blocking the exit before he knows what’s happening.

It would almost seem opportunistic, a heat of the moment kind of thing, when the back of his hands collides with Lucas’ face. Except that he’d angled them just outside the range in which the rooms cameras gave a clear view.

He reaches up to cradle his face like he’s in a dream, stares at the blood on his fingers from where his dads ring had caught. It’s been months since he’s last hit him. He’d forgotten how small it made him feel.

“You have no right to threaten me like that. Your case worker would never believe you anyways. She knows how hard we’ve tried to look after you, how difficult you’ve made it for us. So don’t you _dare_ go lying to her just to be vindictive and selfish.”

His father’s hand is still raised so he just nods, murmuring a sincere sounding apology.

“Now go, collect your stuff from the house, leave the keys, and don’t be there when I get back. There’ll be whatever amount I say there will in your account after you’ve broken up for summer.”

He nods again, flees through the door almost the second its opened. Doesn’t stop to breathe until he’s back at Mika’s place, the last of his belongings in tow, and wondering what the fuck he’s going to do until school breaks up in two weeks.

He can’t deal with it now though, so he puts his phone on silent, curls up in the centre of his mattress with a blanket pulled tight around him, and blacks out until morning.

* * *

He wakes up to find he’s received almost 60 notifications over-night. Several are from the boys group chat, discussing a party they’d attended without him. Some are from Yann specifically, asking him where he’d been lately. There’s even one from Emma, saying she hadn’t seen him in a while and hoped everything had been sorted with his family.

The overwhelming majority are, of course, from his father.

12 missed calls, 7 voicemails, and 22 texts.

He only listens to the first two voicemails before deleting the rest of his mail box, not in the mood to hear his father grovel for his forgiveness and yet never even acknowledge he’d actually done something wrong. The texts are much along the same lines. Alluding, in vague terms, that he’d been wrong to hit him, without ever saying the words, while also convincing him it wasn’t really that big of a deal, and he shouldn’t tell anyone lest they ‘over react’. As if he would risk his friends pity to tell someone after not doing so for years.

He’d also informed him the bank transfer he’d asked for would be in his account by Monday, the same message pointedly including the next date they were expecting a visit from his social worker.

He replied with a simple thank you, turned off his phone when his dad immediately tried to call him, and then dragged himself up off the mattress.

His spine cracked as he stretched his hands above his head, legs tingling painfully where the jeans he’d neglected to remove had cut off his blood supply. He carefully lent the mattress back against the far wall, collected his bag of clothes and toiletries from their hiding place, before beginning the three-floor trek to Mika’s apartment.

It was a testament to his dissociation that he did not immediately consider why he shouldn’t do this. He usually text to make sure Manon wasn’t in before he came up, but all he could think about was the opportunity to have a hot shower and cry. So, he was startled when Mika, upon opening the door, immediately stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

He looked on in confusion for a moment while Mika hissed “What the fuck?” at him, before Manon’s voice sounded through the door.

“Who is it Mika? Don’t you need keys?”

Mika laughed awkwardly, not taking his eyes off Lucas’ face, responding with “Just an over enthusiastic hook-up from a few nights ago, don’t worry about. I’ll be back in a moment, just let me in when I knock.” before grabbing Lucas’ arm to drag him towards the stair well.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Oh shit, he’d forgotten that there’d probably be a mark, hadn’t had the chance to look at himself to check the damage.

“It’s nothing, just got into an argument with some dude, doesn’t matter. Listen, I need somewhere to stay. Like permanently. Do you know anyone that’s looking for flatmates?” Mika frowns, looking unconvinced, but moves on anyway in favour of finding out why he’s asking after flats.

“Aren’t you at your dad’s? I thought you had to be because of child protection or whatever?”

“Yes, or I mean, I was, but they’ve said I can find a place of my own, since his is already crowded, so I’m looking for somewhere to go.”

“Umm, sure, I can ask around, but most people won’t be looking for new tenants until mid-summer, do you have somewhere until then?”

Lucas swallows hard, quickly thinking through his options.

Up until summer he can use the showers at school to wash-up most days, and after that, there’s the free community centre, which means hygiene is doable. Food is also doable. He can live off stuff he doesn’t have to heat for a while, use the money that’s not going on rent to eat out when he needs to, make the most of subsidised school meals while he can. He’s already been sleeping in the basement most nights, so as long as no one discovers him he’ll have shelter.

Okay, so he can survive until Mika finds him a more permanent solution to his semi-homelessness.

He nods his head firmly in affirmation to the question.

“That’s good, great. You can still have our couch whenever you need. Every night if you don’t mind Manon…” he shakes his head, cutting off that line of questioning. The basement isn’t so bad.

“Okay then, I’ll text you if I find anything. Remember, I’m here if you need to talk.”

* * *

By the end of the month, Manon found out he’s living in the basement anyways. Lets him take the room she’s vacating with surprisingly few questions.

She always finds a moment to talk to him alone when she skypes the flat, gently asks after his well being without prying. In return, he doesn’t ask about the dark circles growing under her eyes, how she smiles less every time they facetime or how Charles is never there. Simply reminds her that her friends love and miss her, that she can come back to visit anytime.

They’re both to guarded to discuss anything personal. She still manages to quickly become the sister he’s never had.

He only sees his father twice that summer, once at the beginning and once at the end. Both times it’s in the service of acting like he still lives with him in front of a social worker.

He has to visit him once more after school has restarted. A visit during which Mari explains, through barely contained anger and thinly veiled distress, that child protection has decided their satisfied with his father’s quality of care, and no longer deem it necessary to supervise his case. Her tone makes it obvious this is not a decision with which she agrees.

As she’s leaving, for what will likely be the last time, she pulls him into a tight hug on the doorstep and doesn’t let go for a long moment. When they eventually do part, with tears in her eyes that mirror Lucas’ own, she looks directly at him and tells him to stay safe, leaving a square of paper behind when she shakes his hand.

He opens it while lying on the plush mattress in his new-found bedroom. Sobs quietly long after he’s finished scanning the scant few words written there.

_He does not deserve your protection. Remember that you are not alone._

Underneath there is a phone number he will never call. He folds the paper and carefully tucks it safely away regardless.

He doesn’t visit his mother once. Not even when he is notified by the clinic that she’s been released from inpatient care. His father’s words are still burning at the edges of the hole in his chest.

He still texts her at least once a week though, reminds her that he loves her and misses her. Let’s her calls go to voicemail and cries when she messages him bible verses that hit just a little too close to home.

Life’s better though.

Despite the walls constructed of lies and guilt that he surrounds himself with. Despite how he hardly sleeps and always feels as if he’s carrying a bag of bricks on his shoulders. Despite how Mika and Lisa have begun acting as if he’s an interloper now that Manon’s gone, a fact that isn’t helped by his dad forgetting to send him rent money half the time.

This is the most stable his life has been in years, and he’s so grateful for this small mercy he forgets he wasn’t always this lonely.

Until Eliott comes along and pulls the world from under him.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucas’ week had been absolutely shit.

The party on Saturday was just the icing on the already fucked cake.

His friends had started early on with the incessant girl talk and seemed determined to drag it across the entire damn evening without letting up. It was exhausting to play along with even on a normal day, but when he was already tired, thanks to his brains inability to shut up, it was fucking excruciating.

His mother has been sending him a series of increasingly violent bible quotes since Tuesday, a sure sign the new meds had caused a regression in her condition. He’d called her outpatient team to let them know, as soon as he’d caught on, but it always took a while for her to stabilise after an episode like this. Regardless of how soon someone intervened.

Since the universe apparently didn’t think that was shitty enough on its own, it turned out mama had also called his father. Who had, in turn, called Lucas. Asked, nicely, that he go and visit his mother, lest his rent money go missing. Regardless of the fact he’d been the one to tell Lucas how toxic he was to her.

In all, he’d managed maybe six hours of undisturbed sleep that week, been forcibly reminded of how shitty a son he was, and now the boys expected him to hook up with some chick when all he had in his system was one beer and a few hits of jay? He really wished he could still afford coke.

He was almost glad when the police turned up. There had been no way he was going to get it up that evening, and Chloè had seemed pretty determined to give him a blow-job.

It was only when he woke up the next morning to find Arthur’s weed missing that he realised the entire thing had actually just been yet another way for the universe to fuck him over.

* * *

The foyer was possibly the most pathetic attempt to garner popularity he’d ever heard of.

Who needed a specifically designated space to make new friends? What the fuck?

It was also, though Lucas was loathe to admit it, a pretty great idea.

A place people could hang out at school, without having to either brave the cold or sit in silence, was exactly what the school needed. And the girls had managed to pitch it in such a way as to not only gain the principal’s approval, but also a small amount of funding as well. If the way they were selling it to students wasn’t so mind-bendingly awful, he’d almost believe they were geniuses.

He still acted like it was the worst thing in the world when Imane told him he had to participate in order to ensure the return of Arthurs weed.

Now he had a stable home situation, or as close as it could get with his parents being like they were, he found himself actually caring about stupid shit like social credit. His entire constructed image depended on people viewing him as the cool, outgoing guy who got girls, and he was borderline obsessed with maintaining it. Convinced that even the slightest deviation would uncover every single one of his lies.

But he also really needed to get that weed back.

Which is why he found himself rolling up on Friday to help the girls out. And Jesus fuck was he glad he did.

The girls hadn’t exactly been welcoming when he’d arrived, but considering everything that went down in first year, he figured it was no less than he deserved. The cold shoulder still stings though, especially since he and Emma used to be so close.

The boys were pissed when they showed up as well. He’d lied to get them there, all in the service of helping them out, except that they didn’t know that was the reason. He played it off like it was chill, like he was in control, and secretly wondered how much more of his shit they would take before they got tired of him.

Chloè was there to. She’d been smiling at him every time she saw him around school, as if they’d shared something far more intimate than an almost blow-job against someone’s wall. It set him on edge.

He’d learned the hard way that it was a lot more difficult to appear attracted to someone you were in a relationship with than someone you were hooking up with at a party, and Chloè was decidedly aiming for the former. Who the hell actually winks at someone?

The entire thing had seemed like a bust. Until _he’d_ walked through into the room.

He looked like he belonged in a magazine. Hair perfectly styled into an untamed mess, long legs hugged by well-fitted jeans, hoodie and jacket combo making him look just the right kind of dishevelled. And his eyes. Lucas had never seen anything like them. It was like they were backlit or some rom-com bullshit.

The guy looks at him and smiles. Lucas’ brain short-circuits.

The boys are asking him something, he register distantly, something about Chloè. He must look like a fucking idiot, staring with his mouth agape and not answering, but this guy might be the most gorgeous person alive, so he thinks he should be excused.

“Lucas. Lucas Lucas.”, Yann’s voice calls him back to the present.

He thinks he must respond to their questions but he’s not sure, is too busy internally panicking.

Guys don’t think other guys look gorgeous. They don’t admire the way their eyes light up. What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s not even being subtle.

He keeps stealing glances at the guy every five seconds regardless, while the girls hand out questionnaires and everyone seems distracted. He has no self-control.

Before he even progresses to filling out his own form everyone has begun getting up to leave.

He’s pretty sure he’s missed the entire talking part of the meeting, which Imane is sure to be angry about, but he doesn’t even care because the hottest guy in the world looks directly at him and smiles before he leaves.

He sits frozen in place, heart stuttering in his chest, filled with something that could be fear, arousal, or both. And then he sees Chloè approaching him from the other side of the room.

He practically yells goodbye to the boys in his haste to reatreat. Waits in the toilets like a coward until he’s sure everyone is gone.

* * *

By the end of the night he knows the guys name is Eliott, that he’s weird as fuck but is so nice he somehow pulls it off, that he takes recommendations on his vending machine choices, and that, before Chloè came along, Lucas had been imagining all the scenarios in which they could end up kissing.

He’s a disaster, there’s no reason to think this guy would be interested and Lucas isn’t even gay. For some reason, he still can’t wait to see him again.

The good mood has thoroughly worn off by Saturday morning.

He hasn’t gotten the weed back, his mom is still having a rough week according to her drop-in nurse, and his dad won’t send him rent money until he visits his mother.

The foyer meeting hadn’t solved any of his problems, and the short phone call he’d had with his father the previous evening both guaranteed him a sleepless night and reminded him of exactly why he couldn’t have anything with Eliott. Not that Eliott would want to have anything in the first place.

By the afternoon he’s practically stewing in own bad mood.

Mika’s reminder of exactly how desperately he needs rent money really hadn’t help, and neither had the conversation about blow-jobs.

He knows Mika isn’t mean spirited, but sometimes, when he talks about stuff like this, Lucas wonders just how much he knows about the time he’d spent at gay bars. It makes him feel dirty, the possibility of someone knowing what he’d done there. How he’d let men, sometimes twice his age, force him to his knees in an alley. How he’d sometimes cried while they used his mouth, as if he hadn’t asked for it. Or worse, how he’d sometimes enjoyed it.

He tries to distract himself from it all by stalking Eliott online, only to become increasingly frustrated by his inability to find him.

Just thinking about him, the way his lips had looked wrapped around a joint, the way he’d laughed and his eyes lit up, the way he’d leaned past Chloè to introduce himself as if Lucas was the only one he cared about hearing. It set Lucas’ heart racing with the anticipation seeing him in the future even while the very idea of why that was made him feel disgusted in himself.

It was dichotomous really. He made Lucas feel like he was more alive than he had been in years, a fact which made him both want to run to Eliott like a moth drawn to a flame, and to burn his own fucking brains out so he’d stop wanting him so badly.

 _Jesus,_ Lucas thought as he threw himself back onto the bed, _they’d barely had one conversation._

* * *

By Monday the part of Lucas that desperately wanted to chase after the light Eliott emitted had won.

He felt like a creepy stalker, looking through the registers for Eliott’s last name after the weekend’s internet stalking had turned up only blanks, but it was worth even the awkward interaction with Alex when google finally produced something relevant.

Eliott was a hipster nerd who wanted to make a deep and meaningful film. Of course he was.

He would usually roll his eyes at something so pretentious, except that Eliott sounded so sincere and endearing when he talked about it that Lucas’ broke ass wanted to fund the entire project.

He’s so absorbed in the video that he nearly falls off of his chair when Imane shows up, scrambling to find an excuse and just coming up defensive. Shit.

The request to join the girls again to help out with the foyer is half born out of an attempt to appease Imane, whose evil eye is terrifying at the best of times, and half out of a desperate fantasy in which he meets Eliott there again. Either way, by the end of the conversation, he has Arthurs weed back and plans for Wednesday.

It’s almost as though he’s a functioning human being who gets stuff done.

* * *

Tuesday drags. The boys don’t want to talk about anything but how into him Chloè is and how desperate Basile has been lately, both things that require him using far too much energy not visibly recoiling at the idea of being intimate with a girl. He’s glad that he’s always been so fucked up out of his mind when he’s slept with girls, it means he can’t recall the more vivid details.

The result of this is that, when Wednesday rolls around, Lucas could not be more thankful to spend time with anyone but the boys.

He starts off feeling a bit stupid, just sitting and reading surveys in silence, but once everyone has begun to relax about him being there, he finds himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. It’s freeing, having a conversation and not feeling as if he has to be a completely different person to engage properly. He laughs, and for once it doesn’t feel forced.

He still dashes off at the opportunity to see Eliott. Whose polaris video he must have watched twenty time since Monday. Jesus, he’s worse than Basile.

Perhaps its divine intervention that he runs into the boys and loses sight of Eliott. Is forced to agree to go to a party where Chloè will be and his hook-up substance of choice will not. _Lead us not into temptation…_

He re-watches the polaris video again that evening, wonders when God will get around to the whole delivering from evil part.

* * *

The entirety of Thursday is devoted to the boys hyping each other up about the party on Friday while Lucas sends increasingly desperate glances at Yann. _Notice me,_ he thinks, _realise how much I don’t want to do this, how uncomfortable I am just talking about it._

Yann, of course, does not read his mind, so he’s resigned to his fate by Friday and is planning to blow the last of his budget on some chemical distraction so that, maybe, he can actually do something with Chloè to get the guys off his back about her.

Its just his luck that the boys have all decided it’s his turn to get beers as well. That and the coke will clear out half of his the emergency cash, and if his dad doesn’t send more through soon he’ll be more worried about starving than paying Mika back for the rent.

His thoughts begin to spiral as he waits for the bus, sending off a text to his dad with no real expectation, and one to Mika that’s a little more hopeful. Then he starts to formulate a plan. What can he afford to lose this month? His food budget? His friends? His pride?

He’s just started to calculate how little he can spend on food while still surviving when Eliott sits next to him.

“Fuck, you scared me.”

The little huff of laughter Eliott lets out in response is so adorable he barely hears him apologise.

Fuck, fuck, keep the conversation going.

“Are you going home?” And fuck, is that a normal thing to ask? Lucas has forgotten what qualifies as polite conversation.

“Okay. Straight to the personal questions.” So that was a no, it wasn’t a normal thing to ask. Shit, he needs to get it together.

He begins to stutter out a half-formed apology, ready to fling himself under a passing bus, before Eliott puts him out of his misery and tells him he was kidding.

His phone pings. Mika can’t send him the money.

That’s okay. That’s fine. He can live off of cheap bread for a month. If he buys some orange juice as well, he probably won’t even get scurvy. Yann will cover him a couple of euros for food at school if he asks nicely enough as well so all he needs to do is…

“Is there a problem?” He’d almost forgotten Eliott was there.

He sounds legitimately concerned for Lucas in a way no one has for a long time.

Less than a minute later he’s agreeing to go back to his house to pick up beer, though all thoughts of the boys, the party and Chloè are far from his mind now. This is his opportunity to spend time with him, in the hopes of what, he doesn’t know, but he can’t screw this up

Quietly, his traitorous mine thinks, _I wouldn’t need a chemical boost to enjoy kissing Eliott._

* * *

He draws himself as a raccoon because he likes that they wear masks, has a collection of vinyl records that range from Queen to electric-pop, can exhale perfect smoke rings without even trying, and can make Lucas relax enough that he drops his walls without even thinking.

These are all things he learns about Eliott that night.

He plays the piano because he wants to. Sits down with the intention of impressing Eliott by playing some complicated well-known piece, but the moment his fingers touch the keys he’s doing it for no one but himself.

It’s been several months since he’s last played, almost a year since he’s done so on anything but the schools’ shitty keyboards. God he’s missed this. The feeling of ivory and black keys beneath his fingers, ready to fill the air with music at his whims.

Playing piano had always been something reserved for time with his mama. Most days she’d be out teaching rich kids how to play complicated pieces that would impress their parents. On Friday’s, she’d teach him how to play from his heart.

It was something that was special, shared only between them, and he’d delighted in it far past when most children entertained a parents wish that they learn to play an instrument.

He finds himself fingering the notes to one of the last pieces she’d taught him, when it had been well beyond the point where their lessons had been filled with carefree laughter. When his mother had already slipped away farther than he could follow.

She had sometimes made him stay up late into the evening, pressing the notes over and over and over until all of them sounded in exactly the right order with exactly the right pressure. Sometimes, she would make him practice until the keys were covered with blood and his hands cramped so had he couldn’t move them.

Back then he’d clung desperately to the title of the piece. Looked for a deeper reason why she had chosen this song in particular. Hoped it was a small remnant of her sanity, reaching out to tell him _‘I love you’_.

Now, as he plays this piece, by that title, ignores a party, and smiles at Eliott as he does so, he tries very hard to not think too deeply on the whys.

Lucas learns one more thing that night.

Eliott has a girlfriend. The universe laughs.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite what Mika says, he does not mope for the whole weekend.

His father still hasn’t sent him any money, the boys are going to be royally pissed at him, and a guy he’s only just met had prioritised meeting his girlfriend over hanging out with Lucas.

He has absolutely no reason to mope.

Which is why he definitely hadn’t spent all of Saturday lying face down on his bed, getting up only to eat, drink and use the bathroom. And also, hadn’t done exactly the same the next day.

Except that was exactly what he’d done.

The only delightful variation had been the text he’d sent his mama on the Sunday, asking how she was and telling her he loved her. After receiving only a bible verse about paying for his sins in response, he’d text her outpatient team to ask how she was instead. Hadn’t even stopped to wonder what they’d think of the fact he’d sent it at 4am on Monday morning.

Despite everything else going on, he hadn’t stopped thinking about his mama, at least in the back of his mind, since Friday night.

The piano had bought up a lot of old memories, and he was suddenly finding it hard to breathe thinking about her in that house, all on her own. He wanted to go to her. Badly. Wanted to wrap her up tight in his arms, play whatever she wanted him to for as long as she needed. Wanted for her to hold him and tell him she loved him like she had when he was small.

No matter how much he wanted to though, he knew he couldn’t. There was something wrong with him, some kind of rotting disease inside him that infected everyone around him. It was what his papa saw that had always made him so angry, so ready to hurt him. If he went to see her she would see it in him and hate him for it. It would hurt her and break him.

So, it was for the best he stayed away.

His hours of introspection only made him feel that much worse that, when the boys had asked why he’d bailed on the party, he’d used her as an excuse. Like her illness was just a get out of jail free card and not the reason their family had fallen apart.

Lucas hated himself sometimes.

* * *

He’d been avoiding Chloè like the plague all week. It was a dick move but it had nothing on what he was about to do.

The quiz he’d found on Wednesday night had made him panic, because no matter what the result had been he still knew, deep down, what he was.

That he was gay and, as hard as he tried, there was nothing he could do about it.

In an abstract way he realised being attracted to the same gender wasn’t inherently bad. No one had a problem with Alexia being bisexual, or Mika being gay, not even Lucas himself. But he was still terrified and disgusted that he felt that same attraction, because this was a part of him that had driven his father to violence. A part of the rotten whole that would surely fall out if this small bit was revealed.

He’d felt dirty and exposed when Arthur had called him a repressed homo. It was the opposite of what he’d wanted them to think after talking about the size of girl’s boobs, and he felt twice as disgusted for having said such horrible things about the girls in the first place.

Which is why, when he saw Chloè a few hours later, he told her exactly what he knew she wanted to hear. And hadn’t meant a word of it. Kissed her and felt safer than he had in days, even as his stomach roiled.

This, the routine, was familiar. Kiss a girl, act like you mean it, brag to your friends.

What was not familiar was how all of the security he’d felt vanished the second Eliott showed up. Like it was suddenly written on his forehead, _Lucas Lallemant sucks dick,_ and he desperately tried to act like this wasn’t the person his little speech to Chloè had really been about.

The act worked but, for some reason, he wished it hadn’t when Eliott walked away, head down.

* * *

On Thursday he takes three buses to find his usual dealer on the other side of the city. The distance is enough to reassure him the boys are unlikely to run into him while buying weed.

He blows half of his emergency cash to buy the small bag of white powder he went for, hides it deep in his sock drawer when he gets back to the flat.

He doesn’t buy it often. Not nearly enough spare funds to support it. When he does though, he makes sure there is an intended purpose.

This cocaine is for the party on Saturday because the boys think I’m in with that girl. Or this cocaine is for when the girl I’m seeing tells me her parents are out. Or, as in this case, the cocaine is for the party on Friday, because he’ll be there and so will Chloè who tried to give him a blow job the first night they met and is now sort of his girlfriend.

He always has an intended purpose. Because otherwise there’d be nothing to stop him from taking a line right now, when the powder is only a few feet away and could stop him feeling like shit in mere minutes.

On Friday he allows himself to break. Snorts a line off the same desk where he does his homework before he heads out to Daphne’s ‘kiffance’ party, even knowing the high will have worn down well before he really needs it.

He tucks the powder bag into his front pocket and forgets why the extra line was a bad idea as soon as it hits him. God, his limbs are tingling pleasantly, and his mind is on fire in the exact right way. He’s feels fucking elated.

He giggles uncontrollably when he see’s the boys, praises Basile’s costume and lets them paint lines on his face. Pretends its just that he’s already drunk when they ask if he’s okay, smiling too big, too happy, the entire time.

The high starts to wane before the party’s even half over. The world losing just a bit of its brightness and pinpoint clarity, becoming a little less exciting.

But not enough that he realises he shouldn’t be holding eye contact as Eliott kisses his girlfriend and Chloè kisses him. Not enough to realise he really needs to run when the night guard comes. Not enough to feel it when Eliott propels him with no little force into a glass wall, or to turn Eliott down when he offers to walk Lucas home, or to conceal his reaction when he says, as if its nothing at all, ‘not necessarily a girl though’.

Or maybe, he thinks, as Eliott’s eyes flicker to his lips, he is stone cold sober now and every ounce of happiness he feels is down to the boy in front of him.

“Hi.” The voice makes his head snap sharply in its direction. Fuck.

He smiles regretfully at Eliott but the boy just laughs it off. Leaves with no more than a wave and nod of his head. Leaves and takes all the warmth and light Lucas had just been feeling with him.

Yep, definitely sober. His head throb slightly in confirmation so he rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Are you okay Lucas?” Manon’s voice comes from directly behind him, suit case in hand. When did she get there?

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine, nothing to worry about. Shit, fuck, okay, what are you doing here?” her face drops the second he asks her.

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you’re here, really, I just didn’t think you’d be back or…” and Jesus he’s screwing this all up. This Manon, who he owes for the bed he now sleeps in and the kitchen he cooks in, who has become like family to him across months of skype calls and a slim stretch of water.

“It’s okay, I know what you meant.” She’s smiling again now, thank god, he hasn’t ruined everything by asking the wrong question.

“Okay, so, are you coming back to the flat? I can let you in, if I can find my keys, give you my duvet and stuff, fetch you a glass of water…?” he’s rambling and patting his pockets down, needs to stop that, is starting to feel dizzy. Fuck, this wasn’t normal, the coke must have been cut with something.

Manon is reaching a hand to him and he instinctively steps back, stumbles slightly.

“Lucas, your nose is bleeding, are you alright?” He brings a hand up to his face, it comes away shining red.

“Fuck, it is, isn’t it? Oh god, I don’t like this, Manon make it stop.” Tears prick his eyes and he sinks to the ground. He’s a fucking mess.

Manon is crouched in front of him now, pulling his hands from his face, looking at his eyes.

“Jesus, have you taken something?” the question makes him tear up even more.

He doesn’t want Manon to be angry at him, doesn’t want her to be disappointed. She’s been so good to him, given her his room and asked him how he is like she actually cared. He doesn’t want her to have to deal with him as he is now, feeling sick from whatever had been mixed in his coke. Don’t be angry don’t be angry don’t be angry.

“I’m not angry with you Lucas, I’m just worried about my friend.” Had he said that out loud? He groans into his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’ve just got back from London and I know everything is not alright with you and now I’m making you deal with me. I’m sorry.”

“Its okay Lucas, you don’t have to be sorry, just tell me what you’ve taken and it’ll all be fine.” Oh god, she’s being so gentle with him, he doesn’t deserve her. He can’t tell her what he’s actually taken, cocaine’s a hard drug, the kind that makes people panic, fuck he can’t think properly.

“I’m so sorry.” He moans, rubbing bloody hands over his face.

“It’s fine, just tell me what you’ve taken, I need to know how serious this is.”

The lie is a split-second decision.

“I’m so stupid, I should’ve known better. I thought it would be fine, cus’ it was just weed. But I got it from a guy I’ve never bought from before and now I feel like shit. Fuck, I’m sorry you have to deal with me.” It sounds believable. It’s the kind of thing he knows happens to people all the time. Buying green from someone shady and ending up fucked.

“Okay, that’s fine, that’s something we can deal with. How bad is it? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, it’s not that bad. Just a headache. I just need a glass of water or something.”

“Alright. Can you get up on your own? And I’ll need your keys?”

He groans at the mere thought of moving, forces himself up onto unsteady legs regardless. Manages to produce his keys from his back pocket, where they’d been digging into his flesh for the past few minutes.

“Thanks, just put your arm around me and we’ll walk to the apartment, okay?”

He nods in acquiescence, allows Manon to pull his arm over her shoulder, guide him up three flights of stairs and into the living room. She then disappears for a few minutes, returning with a glass of water and her suitcase, the former of which is placed in his hands as she sits beside him.

There is an awkward silence as the two try to decipher what acceptable conversation is between people who have grown close only through phone calls, especially when one of them is fucked on drugs. Lucas is the one to break it.

“How was your flight?” Nice, that sounds like neutral territory.

“Short. Yeh, it wasn’t too bad. How was the party?”

“Yeh, not too bad either.”

“And the boy you wer-“ He groans before she’s even finished the question.

“I’d really rather not talk about it. Unless, of course, you want to talk about why you’re here and Charles is not?” It’s harsh, he knows it is before he hears the sharp breath she draws in, but he really doesn’t want to talk about it. “Sorry, that was uncalled for, but please just, leave it be for tonight?”

“Yeh, that’s fine, sensitive topic.” Bless her for being so understanding even when he’s being such a bitch.

“I..I could, umm, use a hug though, and I think you could, umm, maybe, use one to?” She smiles at him in response, reaches out and takes the obvious olive branch.

At 12pm on a Friday night they end up lying side by side, on a too small couch, holding each other tightly because they both desperately need _this_.

At 2am on a Saturday morning, Lucas finally lets go, gives up on sleep, and covers Manon’s sleeping form with a blanket, ignoring the tear tracks on both their faces.

By 1pm that afternoon, he has been forcibly reminded that he is an intruder on this small family he has found. That people will never want to carve out space for him in their lives. That, when they do, it’s temporary.

He treats Manon like shit when she asks questions he doesn’t want to answer, knows none of this is her fault. Only allows himself to cry for this new family he is losing, but also never really had, after she has closed the door.

When he confronts Imane about Islam it isn’t her or her religion he is angry at. That really doesn’t excuse him being a grade A dick about it though.

He knows the words his mother sends him have nothing to with Islam, or Christianity for that matter. Religion is a tool to disguise hatred and not the reason for it, and part of him knows this even before he attacks Imane’s faith. But it’s a lot easier to blame religion than believe your own mother will hate you simply for who you love.

He deserves her response in the end. He had purposefully struck out at her belief system. She had simply swung back, not knowing she was hitting exactly where it hurt most. _Useless. Deviant. Something that had no reason to exist._ That’s who he is in this world. A cowardly waste of space. A sinner.

He spends the rest of the day in a weird haze. Feels sick with himself when Chloè kisses him. Somehow hates himself more when she walks away exactly as he’d wanted her to.

* * *

Eliott does not show up on Wednesday like he said he would. Lucas feels like an idiot. Doesn’t know why he feels like he’s been stood up when Eliott has a girlfriend and Lucas is trying very hard to be straight. Why it still somehow hurts.

Manon notices. Of course she does. At some point, the months of not talking had made each of them aware of exactly what the others silence meant.

He kisses Chloè in front of her and agrees to a date on Friday. Watches on in silence as, the next day, Chloè arranges a double date with a guy he’d almost kissed less than a week ago. Wonders why he feels like so much more of a fraud than he had with Sarah.

* * *

Friday evening, predictably, starts off as a disaster.

Unpredictably, it is not Lucas who sets the disaster ball rolling.

Lucille is clearly on the offensive from the start. Glaring daggers at Lucas, at Eliott, at the beer, anything and anyone who isn’t Chloè really.

The combination of her obvious animosity and Chloè’s overly affectionate touch has Lucas’ skin crawling from second one. He can only be glad that Eliott seems to be sharing some level of his discomfort, locking onto his eyes in commissary every few minutes.

The night progresses from bad to worse fairly spectacularly from there.

The tension mounts to a new high the second Eliott having failed his bac is bought up. So clearly a personal topic, something Lucille is aware her boyfriend doesn’t want to discuss, that it comes as no surprise when Eliott responds with something that sounds unmistakably like resentment in his tone.

Lucille is still the one who storms off in the end though, Chloè hot on her heels. As if drinking two beers was a crime. As if it was okay to air Eliott’s dirty laundry.

Lucas doesn’t think twice about running off with Eliott after that, simply slips on his jacket and shoes with a practiced stealth and follows him out the door. Giggles along to Eliotts delighted peals through the abandoned streets, brushes their hands together as they walk.

Nothing feels as sharp at this time of night. Everything softer and less real in the moonlight.

He is not scared when he is led into a locked park, only delighted to be the first one invited to this special place. He is not scared when they enter the tunnel, feels brave with Eliott holding the flashlight. But then the light goes off and Lucas is alone. Off on, off on, off…

There is nothing but darkness. Maybe Eliott has really abandoned him here. Maybe this was a cruel joke, and everyone is in on it. He has been left in the dark, alone, again. But then he turns.

He’s standing in a moonbeam, the rain pouring down around him, and Lucas finally recognises the story. Slips his finger between Eliott’s and decides how its ends.

The kiss is like an awakening. A near violent collision of skin and teeth and hands and hair and rain. Eliott guides them to a better angle, tilting Lucas’ head back to deepen the kiss. Their height difference is enough for it to almost be painful, except that all he can think is hot, wet, yes, more more more.

The first hint of tongue has him moaning into the space between their mouths, hands grasping desperately for purchase against soaking fabric. Within seconds, heat has flooded his entire body, mouth falling further open to grant Eliott an entrance, which is immediately taken advantage of. It begins with soft probing licks, tongue tracing Lucas’ lips and teeth lightly, tasting him, before delving deeper. Sucking lightly on Lucas’ tongue as he entangles it with his own, licking deeply into his mouth.

Eliott breaks away to breathe, it could be seconds or hours later, but he’s still grinning and irresistible, so Lucas goes straight for his neck. Places light kisses there and runs his teeth across an area that makes the other man shudder. Soon their mouths are being bought back together, and the hands on his ass make whimper as they lift him onto his tiptoes, easing the strain on his neck. His own hands find their way to the hot skin beneath Eliott’s shirt, gripping and tugging and feeling the way his muscles bunch and relax each time he pulls Lucas tighter against his front.

They’re so close now, he can feel a hard length pressing against his front, rolls his hips instinctively to search for some friction, release some of the pressure. Their mouths break apart as he lets out a high keening sound, breath hot in the air between them while Eliott looks at him like he’s something worth wanting.

“Fuck.” The word is punched out, desperate and needy. Lucas can only nod in agreement.

Suddenly they’re kissing again, with a deep, searching urgency. Moving backwards until Lucas is pressed against a cold hard wall.

“Ahh-h-ahh” his voice is wrecked, the pressure delicious. It’s so good he can barely stand, feels his knees begin to buckle before there are hands on his thighs. He takes the direction, jumps up to wrap his legs around Eliott’s waist, digging heels into his arse to pull him closer.

They’re technically in public, both soaking wet, and grinding into each other against a dirty wall, but Lucas couldn’t care less. Has never felt something so good, so right, in his life. Doesn’t want it to ever end.

“Please, please, I need, need, ahh-“ He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, but Eliott seems to understand anyway, looks into his eyes searchingly.

“Your flat?” the question doesn’t make complete sense but Lucas nods enthusiastically, licks a hot stripe up Eliott’s neck since it’s right there.

“Shit.” The swear is punctuated by a moan. “Fuck, you’re so hot. I need to put you down if we’re going Lucas, you have to let go.” And letting go is the opposite of what Lucas wants, so he lets out a pitiful whine of disagreement and goes back to sucking at Eliott’s flesh.

“Come on, please, I want you in a bed.” He looks back up at that, checking to see if he’s serious, taking in how flushed and desperate he looks.

“Okay.” God, his voice is gone. He allows himself to be lowered back to the ground, both breathing heavily against the other, before Eliott grins, grabs his hand, and they’re running back into the rain.

The twenty minute walk to the flat takes them over half an hour, since neither of them can seem to keep their hands off the other, pushing and pulling each other in and out of starving kisses, grinding against random parked cars.

Its takes him far longer than it should to open the door the apartment door as well. Eliott crowding up against his back as he fumbles with the keys, placing wet, open kisses onto his neck while pressing his cock into the crease of Lucas’ arse.

They don’t even pause to take off their shoes once they’re through the door, Lucas simply grabs Eliott’s hand and drags him toward his bedroom, pushing him against the door as soon as it’s shut, licking desperately into his mouth until his legs are once more hitched up around a slender waist.

“Bed?” Eliott questions, breathless.

“Please.” Lucas responds.

Within seconds he’s being pressed deep into the mattress, words failing him as Eliott follows him down.


	7. Chapter 7

Lucas wakes up feeling boneless and sleep warm. The sun is streaming in through his window because neither of them had thought to close the curtains, but for once he is glad to be awake this early.

He rubs his cheek against the hard chest he’s been using as a pillow, shifts to prop his chin on the shallow dip above Eliott’s heart.

As he gazes up, he can’t help but think Eliott looks beautiful like this. With his lashes resting delicately against sharp cheekbones, kiss red lips parted slightly, drawing in deep even breaths, glowing in the soft morning light. Lucas gasps sharply as clear blue eyes suddenly flutter open, focusing in on him.

“See something you like?” the tease is soft, gentle. Lucas honest to god giggles.

“Yeh.” Is his breathless response. Eliott smiles down at him.

They stay like that for a moment, just smiling softly at each other in the morning light, before Eliott dislodges him from his resting place to sit up and stretch. Lucas sends him a glare for this unforgivable offense, scrunching up his nose and pouting at having been removed from his newfound nook. The bastard only grins at him while cracking his back.

“What time is it?” Eliott asks, slumping back against the mattress in a way that makes it clear he won’t be the one finding out. Lucas huffs, reaching across the bed to check his still charging phone.

“Just after six. Why, you got somewhere better to be?” The question is meant to be teasing, flirty. Comes out with an undercurrent of fear and insecurity.

“Nope. Not a single place I’d rather be.” It’s the sappiest thing he’s ever heard someone say in real life. It’s also enough to temporarily quell the thought that Eliott will leave him at any moment.

There is another silence, but Eliott looks like he’s thinking about something, and he’s already said he won’t go, so Lucas simply places his head back in its spot on Eliott’s chest and waits him out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The question makes all of his muscles tense at once, knowing the vague question can only refer to one thing.

“Talk about what?”

“Last night. You…umm, freaked out a bit, after we’d taken off our jeans. I just thought you might want to… talk about it.” And nope, Lucas most definitely does not. But hyperventilating isn’t exactly the most normal thing to do after getting down on your knees in front of someone you’ve just been grinding shamelessly against. Eliott was bound to ask about it.

“I mean, who wouldn’t freak out when faced with all your unclothed hotness?” He tries to play it off, forcing out a laugh that sounds strained even to his own ears. Eliott doesn’t call him out on it.

“Come here.” He says instead, adjusting so he’s lying sideways with his head on the pillow. “Come on Lucas.” And Lucas follows his lead, lays with his head close enough to Eliott’s that they’re breathing each other’s air.

“Am I your first?” The question would be innocent enough, if it wasn’t so clearly a follow up from the previous one. Lucas forces himself stay calm. Reminds himself Eliott can’t possibly know, wouldn’t still be here if he knew.

“First what?” a hand cups his jaw, rubs a thumb gently across his cheek.

“First guy.” Lucas doesn’t respond. Hopes Eliott will make his assumptions from that and let it go.

Thankfully, with a hint of laughter in his voice, he does, “Well, I’ll take that as a yes.” Lucas smiles back at him, tries not to feel dirty for the deception.

It’s not totally untrue really. Eliott is the first guy Lucas has shared something like this with. A night of gentle kisses and curious hands, no expectations, no owed favours, no violence.

The hand that had been resting on his cheek moves to dig into his hair, massages gently against his scalp. His grin turns genuine as their noses rub together.

“What about you?”

The cheeky raise of an eyebrow is his reply.

“Ah, okay.” He laughs lightly at this ridiculous and handsome man. Eliott could have anyone, and yet here he is, in Lucas’ bed.

Eliott leans forward and connects their lips, smiling into the kiss before deepening it, pulling Lucas flush against him with a hand pressed on the small of his back. Lucas returns the kiss with fervour, running a seeking tongue across swollen lips, letting out a sigh when he’s granted access.

The hand that had been resting on his back runs over the swell of his ass cheek, rubs circles across exposed thigh, before pulling Lucas’ leg across his waist. Lucas breaks the kiss with a soft gasp at the new friction the position creates, moans softly as Eliott’s mouth defers to sucking a trail of marks down his neck, rolling himself to straddle the man when it gets to be too much, not enough.

Hands push under his t-shirt, rub across the planes of his back, rest upon his hips as their tongues tangle. There is a gentle tug on the hem of his shirt not long after.

“Off?” the question is soft, searching. Lucas nods fervently, grasps at the hem of Eliott’s shirt as soon as his own has been thrown off, removes it with eager fingers when he gets a nod in response to the silent question.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with all of this newly exposed flesh. Rubs his palms against muscled stomach and chest, kisses over collar bones. Eliott cups his jaw to bring their mouths back together. Kisses and licks a line down Lucas’ Adam’s apple as he rolls his hips, making use of the opportunity to rub their dicks against each other. Lucas’ moan rings out like a shot into the quiet apartment when Eliott’s lips close around his nipple, sucking gently with just the slightest hint of teeth.

“Fuck, please.” Eliott looks up at him.

“What do you need?”

“You. I just need you. Eliott, please, I-” Their mouths crash back together, heat and lust building as they rock against each other.

Finger tips dip beneath the hem of his briefs, warm and exploratory. He’s never been so turned on in his life.

“Can I touch you? Please, I need to touch you?” He’s not being very clear, but Eliott seems to get it anyway, stuttering out a string of yes, yes, yeses when Lucas gently tugs at his waist band.

That’s all the confirmation he needs to pull Eliott out of his underwear, wrap his hand around the rigid length. Rubs a thumb in gentle circles at the head, smearing pre-come down his shaft.

“Jesus Lucas.” He’s so flushed and desperate looking. Lucas did this to him. “Can I-oh god- can I- please? Is it okay if-”

“Yes, yes, please, anything.”

Without further warning he’s being flipped over, hand pulled unceremoniously from Eliott’s cock in the process. He pouts up at Eliott in protest of this loss, but breaks off into a gasping whine as his dick is pulled free of his underwear and grasped alongside Eliott’s in a spit slick palm.

He nearly loses it on the first slide of flesh on flesh.

“Fuck, fuck, Eliott, I’m not gonna, not gonna la-”

“It’s okay, me neither.” Eliott picks up the pace as he says it, “Come on, let go. Just let go Lucas.” And Lucas is so pent up with want that that’s all it takes, his voice raising in a drawn-out moan as the orgasm is pulled from him, Eliott following only seconds later with Lucas’ name on his lips, stroking them both through it.

They breathe heavily into the silence that settles around them, stomachs messy with come.

“Fuck, that was amazing.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucas replies dumbly, too exhausted to formulate something more articulate.

“Have you got some tissues in here?” Eliott asks, receives a lazy gesticulation in the direction they should be for his trouble, and a warm grin as Eliott gently cleans them both up.

“Thank you.” Lucas barely breathes the word as they settle against each other once more.

“You’re welcome. Now go back to sleep.” A soft kiss is placed on his forehead. Lucas is asleep only seconds later.

* * *

When he’s pulled from sleep again, someone is drawing gentle patterns on his back with their fingertips.

“Do you want me to guess the letters or something?” His voice is muffled by pillows, but he feels Eliott’s smile against him, so he must have heard.

“Go on then.” A kiss is pressed into his shoulder blade. “Guess.”

“H?”

“uh huh.” A kiss on his spine.

“E?”

“Yep.” Another kiss, further down now.

“O?”

“Try again.” A nuzzle against the dip of his back.

“D?”

“Yeh.” A kiss in the same spot.

“A?”

“Not even close.”

“Q?” a snort of laughter against his back.

“How was that anything like a Q? How can you be bad at this game?”

“Don’t be mean, I’ve only just woken up.” He’s whining, can’t even find it in himself to care.

“I’m sure that’s the reason. Nothing to do with your skill level.”

“Nope, nothing at all. Now draw it again.” Eliott shakes his, presses another kiss into his skin. “What? Why not?”

“Three strikes, don’t you know the rules?” Lucas groans.

“That’s not fair. At least tell me what you were spelling.”

“Who says I was spelling anything?” Eliott can’t see the eyebrow Lucas raises, but apparently his silence says enough. “Fine, I was spelling something, but I’m still not telling you.”

“Ugh, no fair.” Eliott laughs at him, resting his cheek back against his shoulder.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t come to the meeting? Or if I’d taken a different bus?” The idea had been swirling in Lucas’ head, where would he be if they hadn’t seen each other?

This moment is so soft, and yet he can’t help but wonder how disgusted his mother would be if she could see him right now, lying with another man. One who had a girlfriend no less. If she would hate him for committing this sin, luxuriating in the feeling of someone having finally chosen him while her mind twisted due to his perverse nature.

“Perhaps we’d have never met.” Would that have been better? To continue living a lie that had been burning him from the inside out? It’s selfish, but he doesn’t think he’d let this day go for anything.

“I think it’s scary.” Eliott admits.

“But in the end, it happened.” Lucas isn’t sure what he means as he says it. That being afraid of something that can’t be changed now is pointless, that everything has already happened, or that he wouldn’t know to be afraid if it hadn’t happened. Is it better to ask for forgiveness or salvation?

Eliott tucks a hand around Lucas’ chest, pulls him impossibly closer as he lays sprawled across his back.

“You know, when I have a choice to make, I always tell myself there are two paths to take, I end up taking one because I have to make a choice at the time, but I will never know what I missed by not taking the other one.” The way he says it makes Lucas’ heart seize. What choices has he taken from Eliott by having him here now? What other life has he ruined? “It drives me crazy.”

“And now, you don’t feel like you took the right path?”

“No, of course I feel like I took the right path.” Lucas smiles, hopes Eliott is right to be so certain.

The moment is unbearably intimate, and he doesn’t want it to break. So he takes a deep breath, and talks.

He tells Eliott about how he imagines there are an infinite number of parallel universes out there, each one formed as a different choice is made, other Lucas’ living out other lives. How the worlds shift and flicker with each choice they make. How, even in another life, they are together right now.

It’s a thought he’s never shared but always took comfort in. The idea that, in another life, he has not made the same mistakes, or has at least made better ones. It’s a piece of himself he has never shared before, just as petit ceinture is a piece of himself Eliott has only shared with him.

The buzz of a phone pulls them out of their bubble. Reminds Lucas that, as good as this feels, he is wrong for wanting it. Eliott has a girlfriend, who he will surely return to.

He is still thankful when Eliott decides not to answer Lucille quite yet. Instead chooses to suck a series of mark across Lucas’ shoulders, rolls them over to tease whimpers out of his mouth using only his tongue, whispers about the first day he’d seen Lucas, and only Lucas, in the school halls.

As he once again falls into a warm slumber, Lucas thinks that this must be worth it. Whatever price he will pay for a sin this sweet, it must be worth it.

The next time he wakes up it is to a piece of paper filled with empty promises and a new text from his father.

_I’m not going to keep paying your rent if I never even see you. Come by soon and stop acting like a spoiled brat._

Lucas responds, promising to come over the next day, and takes his bad mood out on his flatmates instead of digging the remains of his little bag of white powder.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not his father who opens the door when Lucas arrives. Instead it’s Danielle, standing on the doorstep, smiling as if she’s pleased to see him. She pulls him into an awkward hug, wrapping her arms around his stiff body.

“I’m so glad to see you.” It sounds so genuine he almost does a double take as she releases him from her hold. “Your dad’s just gone to the store, fetching some stuff we’re running low on. Come in, there’s fresh coffee in the kitchen.”

He follows her warily into the house, standing awkwardly on the threshold of the kitchen as she pours coffee into two mugs and slides one of them across the breakfast bar, towards him. She smiles warmly, takes a sip from the mug she’s still holding.

“Sit down if you want. I know we never really bonded, but I promise I don’t bite if you come closer.”

He smiles back at her, hopes it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, takes the offered seat.

“How have you been?”

“Fine.” The reply is blunt, he tries to recover. “How about you?”

“Good, thank you. I’ve got a new job now, I’m really enjoying it.” Her smile falls when all she receives in response is a terse nod. “You know you can come back anytime, right? If you’re finding things difficult or it’s just not working out with the flat?” _What?_

“What?” he voices the question, dumbstruck with the implication that moving out had been a choice, that he was welcome in this house. She’s frowning at him now.

“I mean, of course, you’re welcome to come back anytime. It’s your home to.” Pause.

“I’d even been trying to persuade Marc that we needed to move before you left. Figured you’d like your own bedroom, would stick around more if we weren’t living so on top of each other. But then I guessed you just wanted independence, after you left, because you’d spent so much time on your own, looking after your mom. I could ask him about it though, if you’ve decide you’d like to live with us again?”

Now it’s Lucas’ turn to frown. That’s not what his father had made it sound like.

“But papa said-“ his question is cut off by the slam of the front door.

“I’m back.” His father’s voice calls. Lucas freezes on instinct. Danielle smiles as she goes to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, takes the bag of shopping out of his hand.

“Lucas, you actually came.” He doesn’t know what his dad wants him to say, so he stays silent. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I’ve been?”

“How have you been?” He’s careful to keep his voice neutral as he asks the question. Monotone is always the safest route.

“Stressed, actually. I’ve got a big project coming up that I should really be working on.”

“I’m sorry.” Safest response.

“Yeh, well, if you’d come by when I first asked you to, you wouldn’t be eating into my time right now.” Lucas dips his head and stares at the counter.

“Sorry.”

“Doesn’t make it better, does it?” He shakes his head, jaw set, still not looking up. “So, you need more money?”

“Yeh. I’m behind on rent.”

“How much do you have left?” the question takes him off guard. His dad knows he hasn’t given him anything in almost two months. Lucas only has anything left at all because he’d stashed away the money his father had sent while Manon’s parents were still covering rent.

“Only about €70, in cash? I’ve been saving it for emergencies.” It comes out as a question.

“And you can’t stretch that for another month to pay for food?” What? Danielle is looking back and forth between them now.

“I mean, yeah, probably, but I’ve still got re-“ His father cuts him off.

“Either you can, or you can’t Lucas. Do you actually need the money?”

“Yes? I have to pay for rent, and I can’t use the emergency fund to cover it.” He tries to sound sure of himself.

“It’s not my fault if you’ve been irresponsible with your money.” Irritation begins to rise inside Lucas.

“But I haven’t been, you just haven’t sent me-“

“Go and wait in the living room while we talk Danielle.” and fuck no, if he wants him alone this isn’t going to end well. He desperately tries to catch Danielle’s eye but she’s looking at his father.

“Are you sure? There’s no need to get heated, I’m sure Lucas hasn’t done anything wrong.” Thank god.

“It’s fine. Nothing’s going to get heated, there’s just stuff I want to talk to Lucas about. Alone.” Danielle accepts this with a confused nod, walks out of the door with Lucas’ last shred of hope.

There is only silence for several seconds. Then his papa’s booted feet move towards him.

“Do you think it’s fair to ask me for money when I already pay for your mama’s treatment? For her mortgage? Her food?”

“No, but-“

“Exactly. No, it’s not. Especially since she was fine before you came along, got worse when she was alone with you.”

“I know, but-“

“There is not ‘but’ Lucas.” His dad is suddenly shouting. “There is only you, coming here to ask for money, so you can run away from the problems you’ve created.” The accusation is accompanied by a threatening jab. Lucas flinches.

“You asked me to come here though.” He says it in a quiet voice, knows he shouldn’t say it at all.

“What did you just say?” It’s a deadly whisper. Lucas sucks a harsh breath in, repeats himself a bit louder, knowing the damage is already done.

“You asked me, to come here though.”

His father grabs his hair, drags him from his seat, doesn’t let go.

“You spoiled, insolent child. I invited you here because I missed my son, but all you want is my money. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I’ll go, if you want me to. I’ll go. Please just let me go.” He’s starting to hyperventilate.

“How dare you even-“

“Is everything okay?” It’s Danielle’s voice, from the other side of the door. His papa lets go of his hair.

“Everything is fine, just a minor disagreement. I think it’s for the best if Lucas goes now, right?” Lucas nods in response, desperate to be anywhere but here. “I’ll show you to the door then.”

He manages not to cry when the door slams shut behind him. Or when he has to buy a ticket for the bus. Or when he does the three fight walk to the flat. Tells himself he can breakdown when he’s alone, all he has to do is make it to his bedroom.

He almost breaks when he remembers his room isn’t his own anymore, and Lisa is occupying the sofa, his current designated sleeping space.

He has no choice but to sit beside her, curling into himself, knees drawn up beneath his chin, staring blankly at the tv screen and not letting a single tear fall.

There is rent money in his bank account by Monday evening.

* * *

Lucas is starting to hate his phone.

It’s not its fault that Eliott hasn’t been reachable in almost 4 days, or that he’d fucked up with his friends and now they barely talk to him, or that he and Manon don’t know how to properly talk to each other about their problems, or that his mama had terrified him with a voicemail about hell and falling from high places at 3 am that morning.

It’s not the phones fault. But it’s a lot easier to blame an inanimate object for his misfortune than admit all he’d done lately was fuck up.

He was panicking about Eliott’s radio silence. What if they’d gone to fast, shared too much, or Eliott had felt pressured by his interest? The guy had a girlfriend and he’d given Lucas a hand-job on Saturday. What if he blamed Lucas for making him feel attracted to men, ruining his relationship? What if he’d wrecked his chance for a genuine friendship by listening to his fucking hormones instead of his head?

His mama was another matter entirely. When her stability was fluctuating, as it was now, she contacted him all the time. Bible verses were the best he could hope to receive from her, with the worst being blood freezing messages that left him checking google alerts for suicide attempts while crying on the phone to an emergency responder.

Objectively, he knew it wasn’t his fault she was unstable right now. She’d just had her medication adjusted so it was expected that she’d have a rough couple of weeks. But a niggling part of him just couldn’t let go of the timing. The idea that maybe, somehow, she knew about the sin he’d been committing, and it had caused her illness to get worse.

Most days, the entire fucked up mess of it would have left him feeling numb. He’d been living for the carefree in-betweens where he felt like a normal teenager for a long time now, was used to standing in stoic silence until the load got so heavy he would fall. But today? Today he was angry.

Angry at having been relegated to sleeping on the sofa. Angry at Eliott for showing him what he could have, if he was just a bit braver, more willing to pay the unknown price. Angry at his father for not helping mama when she’d first gotten bad, at how much messier her treatment now was because of it. Angry at his mother for not being there like he really needed her to be, for holding onto her faith harder than she had her son. Angry at his phone. But mostly angry at himself.

Because maybe, if he’d just been normal, his mother wouldn’t be crazy, and then his father would have stayed, and he would have felt the same way he did with Eliott with some girl like Chloè, who wouldn’t leave him alone on a bed they’d slept together in to go back to their girlfriend.

His phone buzzed against the desk.

 _Eliott._ _Look out the window._

Lucas’ head snapped up, eyes locking onto Eliott’s smiling face. What the fuck?

_Elliot. You coming?_

Three days of nothing and now there he was, looking at Lucas like no time had passed, asking to meet outside his biology classroom. He was beyond confused.

He’d been convinced Eliott would go back to Lucille. Ignore what they’d had together, or maybe even pretend he didn’t exist. Act what they had wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation, because to him it probably wasn’t. But none of that fit with Eliott turning up looking giddy with excitement and asking him to skip the end of bio.

He grabbed his bag and left the class room. He needed to know. If there was a chance he could have this, he needed to know.

* * *

The conversation had felt like they were two passing planes. Neither knowing the others flight path, whether they would collide and fall or pass each other peacefully by. Not until it was far too late for either of them to do anything about it. Lucas still didn’t know which outcome had been reached.

He’d been immediately thrown off by the public display of affection, torn between elation that this was still something Eliott wanted and blind panic at the thought of anyone seeing them. Hadn’t been given time to catch his balance before Eliott admitted he’d told Lucille about them, that they were no longer together.

That could mean anything though. Had he told her out of guilt and she’d reacted badly? Had he ruined another good thing? Was Eliott upset he’d taken away his chance with her? The questions must have crossed his face because Eliott had asked if he was not happy, which he was. Of course, he was. But only if this had been what Eliott wanted.

It was a fucking gift horse when he told him he wasn’t sad. When he pulled their head together and told Lucas he’d chosen him, like it was something that was easy.

And then he’d asked about parents. And Lucas had lied.

Said his father wouldn’t care, even though Lucas had once worn a scarf for a week after finding out just how much that wasn’t true. Because that was better than saying his father hated who he was, that he was the reason his family had fallen apart.

Said his mother was crazy, and that was why he didn’t talk to her. Because it was better to be a son who’d decided they didn’t want deal with a crazy parent, than one who’d failed so completely to help that even seeing him made his mama’s condition worse.

Maybe it was because he’d said too much. Revealed more than he should because Eliott made him feel like he was allowed to talk about things. Either way, because of whatever unknown he’d fucked up during the course of the conversation, Eliott pulled away when he asked for a kiss. Ruffled his hair and left him standing alone, feeling more than confused than when he’d gotten up to talk to Eliott in the first place.

* * *

He decided to talk to Mika because he had to talk to someone.

His head was a mess, Eliott hadn’t given him any clue as to what he wanted, and Lucas wasn’t even sure what he wanted himself.

He’d never allowed himself to think of himself as that. As gay. Couldn’t reconcile his fear, his hatred, with the out and proud people he saw. The people who wore shorts and glitter to the gay bars he’d once frequented. The people who dated the same sex without shame, like Mika did. The people who slipped the word boyfriend into casual conversation, like Eliott had.

The way they were, so free with themselves, he could never be that. Couldn’t even imagine it without thinking of the disgust his father’s face and the possibility of seeing it mirrored in that of his friends. Without thinking of the bible his mother read and what it said should happen to him. Without thinking of the men who’d asked him to suck them off and then beat him up for doing it, called him a fag while he could still taste their come.

But the fact remained, he had feelings for Eliott.

Not the kind of feelings he’d had for men before. The kind that could be pushed aside with a guilty wank, a week of self-loathing and some catholic brand repentance. But the real kind. The kind that made his heart beat faster, the kind that made him wish he could be proud of how he felt, who he was, despite the risk.

He tried explaining it to Mika. How he had feelings for a man, how he wasn’t gay because he couldn’t be. Couldn’t ever see himself as the same as the people who went to pride, because he wasn’t proud of who he was. He was ashamed.

It all came out wrong though. Like violent word vomit that just kept going and going even as he watched Mika’s face morph from happiness to confusion to anger.

Mika had a right to be angry. Lucas had been careless and insensitive with his words. He shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

He felt hollowed out.

He would never be proud enough to be part of the community Mika thrived in, never be straight enough that his parent would love him, that his friends would accept him. Didn’t know how to go back to pretending he was now that he had Eliott, the one person who wanted him for who he was.

So he’d messaged Eliott. Told him that he’d talked to Mika, hoping that he could help him think more clearly, decide what to do next.

And then he got a response.

_I need some time._

_It’s going too fast._

_I’m sorry._

He was alone.

Fuck. He could feel the tears welling. Couldn’t cry now. Didn’t deserve the relief after hurting Mika. Couldn’t risk breaking in case it all fell apart. Couldn’t let the anger he felt at Eliott go because then all he’d be left with was this pain burning his chest.

He sent a text the boys instead.

_What are you doing tomorrow night?_

He was going to get well and truly fucked up.

* * *

It was just his luck that the one night he wanted to get truly out of his mind was also the one none of the boys had received any party invitations for.

It was a Friday night and he was stone cold sober, itching to escape his friend’s good mood, Eliott’s text, the missed call from his mother. His brain wouldn’t shut up. He was going to shatter any moment and there was nobody who’d even care enough to notice.

He was tempted, so very tempted, to take his coke from it’s hiding place and snort a line in the bathroom. But with the boys sitting on the sofa it would be impossible to dig through his belongings and find it without prompting some questions.

Fuck. His eyes scanned Eliott’s text again, _too fast,_ what did that even mean? He threw his head back against the chair.

Maybe, if he came up with a good enough excuse, the boys wouldn’t question him taking half his belongings into the bathroom. He could say he wanted to get changed, or that Mika had complained about…

“Well, there’s no more beers. Do you have anymore?” Yann’s voice cut off his musings.

“The fridge is full.” Why did he invite them over again? His limbs feel heavy with exhaustion.

“No, I just drank the last one. Come on.” Yann was up off the sofa before he could reply. Lucas dragged himself from his chair to follow.

The fridge was full of beer. What the fuck?

“Ok. what’s the problem?” he really can’t deal with this shit right now.

“There isn’t a problem.” Not one anyone could fix at least. Just him and his stupid fucking expectations.

“No. You’re avoiding us 24/7, so don’t tell me that.” _Because I don’t want to lose you to,_ Lucas thought.

“I’m not avoiding you. It’s just…nothing to do with you. Ok?” It was a bold and obvious lie. He avoided Yann’s eyes, couldn’t face the disappointment he’d find there.

“Hey, you think I can’t help? Are we friends or not?” _Yes, we’re friends. You just wouldn’t want to be if you knew._

“I swear, if there was something, I’d tell you.” Not true, there was so much Yann didn’t know. “There’s nothing. Nothing. I just want to enjoy a night with my best friends, okay?”

“Ok. That’s the goal.” Yann sounded like he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

For a brief moment, Lucas had never been more thankful to be interrupted by the other boys. Until they mentioned a party. A party that was at Chloè’s. Chloè who knew too much and also nothing at all.

“Lucas, can you get us in?”

“No.” he couldn’t see her after he and Eliott had ditched last Friday.

“What do you mean, no? Are you serious?” Arthur persisted. Yann’s gaze was full of judgement.

“You’re aware she’s really mad at me, no?”

“Stop it, she’s not mad. You’re the only one who thinks that.” They didn’t have a fucking clue.

“Come on Lucas, you can’t do this to us, okay?” Fuck. He could feel the guilt building. “And you didn’t come to my birthday.”

“That’s true. Good point.” God, everyone thought he was a selfish asshole. Maybe he was. Maybe his dad was right, all he ever did was take.

“Fine.” The agreement felt like it cost him.

“Fine? As in, we’re going?”

“Yeah.” The boys burst into cheers even as he collapsed into himself. Yann smiled, pat his shoulder like he’d finally done something right.

He took his bag into the bathroom with the excuse of finding a jacket. Snorted a line before they left and numbed his gums rubbing granules in, to tide him over until the high really started. Didn’t recognise the person looking back at him from the mirror.

* * *

He thought he’d been saved last minute when the guy on the door denied them entrance. Was hoping the guys would just give in and go home, let him ride out his high in peace. He really hadn’t accounted for how desperate Basile was.

It was so loud inside, lights swirling everywhere, people having fun. Ha, fun.

Fuck, was that Eliott he’d just seen? He should go talk to him. Get an explanation. He always liked talking to him.

Something bounced against his shoulder as he walked through the door, but his eyes were locked onto Eliott and it didn’t really seem to matter.

Except, Lucille was there. Lucille who Eliott had said he was no longer together with. Which was fine. If he could just talk to him, everything would be fine.

A blur, suddenly Chloè was standing in front of him, asking disjointed questions that seemed to bounce off his brain before ricocheting around the room.

He tried to speak, apologise, explain. Everything was so loud and jumbled. He couldn’t speak properly.

“Gay.” The word struck him like a bolt. “You’re gay, Lucas!” What was she saying? Why was she saying that? He wasn’t, couldn’t, no one could-

The world around him faded into white noise, light catching on faces filled with hatred, filled with knowing. People had heard her. _People had heard her._

Eliott was gone.

He pushed through the party on auto-pilot, back to the door, shouldered through, needed to get out, out, outoutout.

And there were his friends. Standing and laughing while everything shook. They were talking to him, he just wanted them to leave him alone.

“Leave him, there must be a family problem, it’s nothing.” Everything went red for a second. His heart beating against his ribcage. They didn’t know a fucking thing about his family.

His palms collided with someone’s shoulders, several sets of hands grappling with his clothing, someone’s knuckles grazing against his cheek. This is who he was. This is what he does. So angry and violent and twisted that he needs to be hurt.

Where was he going? His eyes tried to focus. The world shattered.

Eliott.

Eliott kissing Lucille.

Caressing her cheek so tenderly it ached.

Loving simply, and easily, because they could.

He had to go. Go go go, get out. Further. Further away.

The street lights burnt the streets orange, like they were on fire, and he couldn’t feel his body, didn’t know where he was, completely disconnected from the pavement he was walking.

The world fizzled and popped in his mind. Fragmented and dirty, unreachable. Where was he? Were these his hands? Was he breathing?

_BANG BANG BANG._

He looked down, saw the shine of fresh blood against his knuckles. And those were his hands, he could feel them now, feel the beautiful way one of them throbbed and stang, tethering him to reality.

He sank down against the cool metal of the garage door, clenched his fist to hold onto the pain, swung his head back with enough force that he felt pins and needles down his spine. Did it again for good measure. Finally managed to breathe in. Realised he was crying, muttering and crying. When had that started?

_Have pity upon me and take away the awful stain of my transgressions. Wash me, cleanse me of my guilt so I may be pure again, for I admit my shameful deeds haunt me. It is against you I have sinned, and for what you have witnessed your sentence is just. And though as my mother conceived me I was a sinner, I ask that you create within me a new clean heart, with right thoughts and desires. Do not toss me aside, banished forever from your presence. Restore me to salvation and make me willing to obey. Make me willing to obey._


	9. Chapter 9

“Lucas.”

The word drift down to him through murky waters, twangs as its hits the floor.

He thinks it must be related to him in some way. A disjointed connection that he can’t quite grasp.

How long has he been here?

“Lucas.”

A name. Someone’s name.

No.

Not someone’s. His.

“Lucas, can you hear me? I need you to help me get you up.”

The voice rings like a bell against his ear drums. Beautiful but far too close.

“You don’t have anything to be guilty about Lucas, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Why were the bells saying that? Were the bells inside his head? Could they hear him to?

“Please. You’re scaring me. We need to get you home. Just open your eyes and look at me.”

Oh. That was a good idea. Maybe he could figure out where he was.

Red and blue. Manon, his brain supplies.

“Manon?” his voice is raspy, throat sore, as if he’d been talking for a long time.

“Thank fuck. Yes, it’s Manon. What happened?”

“Happened? I don’t…I don’t re…” The lights are such a lovely shade of orange. “Why are you here?”

“Daphnè said there was a fight, with you and Basile and the others. That you’d walked off and no one knew where you were heading. It took me over an hour to find you.” Okay. That made sense. He nodded. “So, what happened?”

Chloè. Chloè had happened. He’d happened. Gay, you’re gay, Lucas. And everyone had heard, seen, knew what he was. And Eliott’s lips, on somebody else’s. Lucille’s. Not his. Like he hadn’t meant a thing. Just another nothing, nothing, no one, alone, so alone-

His breathing accelerates.

“Fuck. Sorry. Just breathe with me, okay. We don’t have to talk about it. We’re good at that, right? Not talking about things?” He nods in agreement, tries to time his breathing with the rise and falls of Manon’s chest. She’s hugging him. When did that happen?

They sit like that for an indeterminate period, time drifting past, never touching him. A car parks in front of them. Bright headlights illuminating the surroundings. Manon stands.

“That’ll be Mika. I called, and he said he’d borrow a car to come pick us up, you just have to get in, okay?”

“Okay.”

“That means standing up.”

“Okay.”

She holds onto both his hands and gently tugs until he follows her upright. She gasps when his hand becomes visible out of the shadows.

“Christ Lucas, why didn’t you say anything? That has to be painful. Something might be broken. Do you need to go to the hospital?” Her voice is filled with concern, he doesn’t understand why. It’s barely anything.

“It doesn’t hurt. I can’t feel it.” Manon’s frown deepens, Lucas pulls his hand out of hers.

“Okay. Okay. We’ll leave it for now then. Take a proper look when we get to the flat. Let’s just, let us just get in the car for now. Yeah?” Another nod.

He settles into the front seat when the door is opened for him, feels more brittle for being somewhere comfortable and semi-familiar.

“Hello kitten.” Mika looks like he’s trying not to cry. Has he done something to upset him? He doesn’t remember.

“I’m sorry.” A choked sob from the driver’s seat.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“Sorry.”

The back-door slams behind Manon.

“Okay?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

And then the streets blur by.

* * *

He’s not sure when he started shaking, but it’s bad enough that someone else is holding the glass of water he’s taking sips from.

The world has started to bend itself back into focus. His head pounding a steady rhythm behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing with unreleased tension. Everything’s so fucked.

“Lucas, what-“ He cuts Mika off.

“No.”

“Lucas, you have to-“

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“Why do I have to talk about it? There’s not even anything to talk about. And even if there was, every time I do everything just gets more fucked up. I keep hurting everyone around me, if I just shut up the only person I can hurt is me.” His voice is monotone, disconnected, emotionless.

“You have to know that’s not healthy. You can’t just keep it all inside. If you just talked about it to someone, properly, maybe it would-“ Lucas’ eyes have come to rest on Mika’s with a laser focus, something he sees there makes him pause.

“Maybe it would what? Get better? Be okay? I’m _wrong_ Mika, don’t you understand? I’m wrong, and I can’t fix it, and it just keeps hurting.”

“It’s not wrong to be gay Lucas. I’m trying to help, but you have to understand that it hurts when you say those kinds of things.” Lucas lets out a snort, anger blooms on his flatmates face.

“That’s not why I’m wrong.” Mika’s immediately morph from anger to confusion.

“But the other day you-“

“I can’t be proud of who I am Mika. Not like you, or all those people who’d die for what they believe in. They’re brave, and good, and _right._ I’m just a coward who ruins everything. I can’t even be the right kind of gay.”

“That’s not what… Lucas, I didn’t mean it was wrong to not be out when I said those things. Or that it was bad if you weren’t into glitter, and Beyoncé, and pride parades. Everyone deserves to take time and be exactly who they are. It just…It just sounded like you hated people who were out and proud, that you didn’t think they should be. That’s why I was angry, not because you’re-“

“It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have talked to you about it in the first place. I got what I deserved.”

“What? No, Lucas, I’m glad you talked to me. What do you mean you got what-“ He cuts himself off as Manon rounds the corner, first aid kit in hand.

“Glad you’re finally talking. Found this buried in Lisa’s closet, so we can sort your hand out. There’s probably some pea’s in the fridge for the swelling, but let’s assess the damage first.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He doesn’t want her to do that, is still enjoying the way his knuckles throb every time he flexes them.

“Of course we do. It looks nearly black, it’s still bleeding.” Her tone is gentle but firm, caring. He doesn’t deserve it.

“It’s fine.” He flexes his hand as he says it. Blood trickles between his fingers. “It doesn’t hurt.” Mika and Manon share a look.

“Lucas.” Mikas says his name gently, like he’s an injured animal that might startle and run away. It’s not far from the truth. “It looks really bad.”

He nods in agreement. It does look bad. But it’s fine, it’s helping him focus.

“It looks worse than it is. I’d tell you if it was bad.”

“You always say that. You never tell me your hurt until you can’t hide it anymore, and then you say it’s not bad, even that time your wrist looked swollen enough to be broken. The only reason I haven’t said anything is because I know social services is already involved.”

“Social services are already what?” His and Mika’s eyes flicker to Manon’s panicked gaze. Fuck. “Why would social services be involved?”

“I ran away from home a few times. That’s all.”

“And they know you stay here now, they’ve come to inspect it and stuff?” Fuck, she knows what she’s on about. Not good.

“Yes.” He says in the same second as Mika says no. “My dad knows I’m here, it’s fine.”

“What do you mean your dad knows? You said social services had agreed, what the hell Lucas?” And now Mika’s pissed again.

“He didn’t want to deal with my shit anymore, so I moved out. I just have to go back when my social worker checks in, or I need money, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine Lucas. Your dad threw you out and then asked you to lie to your social worker about it.” The pity in Manon’s voice makes his stomach turn.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like then?”

“I get how it would seem like that, I saw it that way as well to start with, but I was just making his life harder. He had every right to ask me to leave. He sends me money for rent and everything.”

“He’s your father, he’s meant to look after you regardless of everything. Making sure you can survive isn’t a favour, its required by law.” Manon sits down next to him.

“And your almost three months behind on rent, he’s obviously not sending the money.”

“This is what I mean though. There’s something wrong with me, I make him angry all the time, so it’s better if I’m gone. It’s not his fault.” Lucas shifts restlessly in his seat.

“It’s absolutely his fault. There’s nothing wrong with-“

“Just drop it Mika, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to-“ Lucas stands abruptly, pushes past Manon to head towards the front door. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk.” Manon grabs his arm, he flinches violently and she lets go.

“Sorry, just, it’s 2 am Lucas, and your hand still needs sorting. You haven’t even told us what happened tonight.” Her voice is gentle.

“My hand’s fucking fine, okay? Just piss off and leave me alone.” The guilt is already clouding his mind as he slams the door. He keeps walking.

* * *

It’s past 10am that morning when he returns to the flat.

His feet are killing from his aimlessly walk around the city, and there has been a horrible splintering pain travelling up his arm for the last six hours, but he’s still trying to put off going back into the flat for another few minutes. Why hadn’t he thought to pick up keys?

He presses the buzzer. Hopes it’ll be Lisa who answers.

Manon opens the door. She looks like she’s been crying. Fuck his life.

“Hi.” His voice is barely above a whisper. They stare at each other across the threshold. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry for yelling at yo-“

Suddenly there are arms around him. He tenses at the contact before slowly allowing himself to relax, return Manon’s hold.

“God, I’m so glad you’re okay. We were so worried. We shouldn’t have pushed you like that, we were just scared for you. I’m sorry, just please don’t wander off again. We had no idea where you were, or where you’d go, or anything.” It comes of out her in a rush, concern colouring every word. Lucas tightens his arms around her.

“I’m sorry to. I shouldn’t have blown up like that. Or walked out. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me lately, I just keep screwing things up.” She strokes a comforting line up and down his back.

“It’s fine. You’ve been having a difficult time and we pushed when you weren’t ready. But you can’t just walk off without letting anyone know where you are or when you’ll be back, especially when you’re injured. We worry. Anything could have happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Truce?” She pulls back, hands resting on his shoulder, so she can look at him. He gives her a small smile.

“Truce.” Manon grins before pulling him back in for another hug.

“Just, please let me look at your hand. I know you don’t want me to, for whatever reason, but please. It could get really bad if you leave it.” Lucas sucks in a sharp breath. Fights the part of himself that says he doesn’t deserve to be looked after. Manon wants to do this. He should let her.

“Yeh.” It’s barely louder than a breath. “Yeh. Okay. You can look at it.”

“Thank you.” She matches his volume. Squeezes him once before releasing. “Come on then.”

He lets her take his un-injured hand and lead him into the bathroom. Guiding him to take a seat on the toilet lid while she fetches the first aid kit.

She kneels in front of him and takes his bloody hand, barley supress her wince and smiles weakly up at him.

“I think you’ve split one of these to the bone. Are you sure you won’t-“

“I can’t go to the hospital. Too many questions.” Manon lets out resigned sigh.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just clean the blood off first, it’ll probably sting, okay?” He nods.

She focuses on wiping the excess blood away first, dabbing gently on the almost black skin beneath it. He doesn’t make a sound as she begins to clean the open wounds on his knuckles, just watches, completely disconnected from his injury, as white bone is revealed beneath the deep cross on his ring finger. Manon swallows.

“I’ll put some steri-strips on to keep it closed. You’ll still need to avoid moving it though.”

“Okay.”

She seems to be searching his face for something. Goes back to her work when she doesn’t find it.

He halts her when she starts to wrap his hand in thick white bandages.

“I just…I don’t want it to be noticeable. Don’t want people to ask questions.”

“Lucas, it could get infected, and the pressure will bring the swelling do-“

“Please.” She sighs to indicate her discomfort at the idea but does as he asks anyway. Compromises by wrapping thin white strips across his knuckles, instead of thick ones up his entire hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Tea?”

“Yes please.”

Lisa shoots them a confused look when they curl up with her on the sofa. A confusion which only grows when Mika joins them after his shift ends. She doesn’t say anything though, just shuffles further into the corner, so they can all fit.

Lucas only gets up to eat and go to the bathroom for the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday. Ignores the buzzing of his phone until it loses power. Ignores his ever-mounting anxiety about what Monday will bring.

* * *

He builds it up in his head for the entire bus journey.

The way people will laugh. The way they will point and talk. The way his friends will look at him in disgust.

His heart rate spikes as he crosses the courtyard. Eyes frantically glancing off faces, never truly focusing, mind filling the blanks with his expectations. He can’t hear. Ears filled the kind of noise movies place after explosions. Everyone’s looking, everyone knows, knows everything, he can’t hide, can’t hide, has to run, get out get out get out-

“Hey Lucas, how are you?” Daphné. “Wow, you’re so ripped. It’s insane. Is that all natural?”

The question is so out of place it short-circuits his brain, diverting him from panic mode.

She grabs his hand.

“What happened to you?” _She doesn’t know. Holy shit, she doesn’t know._

Daphné’s still talking, something about the foyer, but Lucas is too busy re-assessing his surroundings, truly focusing this time. No one is looking at him. _They don’t know._

“So?” Daphné calls his attention back. He has no idea what she’s asking him.

“What?”

“Will you help us with the couch?” Right. Couch. Foyer. Girls.

“Yeah, okay.” He figures he owes Manon.

“Really? Oh, that’s so cool. Well, Wednesday, 1pm, in front of school.” He nods, her enthusiasm overwhelming. “Cool. Thanks Lucas. Bye!”

Okay. So people don’t know. He just has to make sure it stays that way. He has to talk to Chloè.

* * *

Chloé parting words are still echoing in his head when he runs into Yann. _I can tell whatever I want to whoever I want._

Fuck. He’d been such a dick to her. Maybe this was the price he was going to have to pay. It felt crushing. She could ruin him with one word to the right or wrong person.

And then Yann.

Yann with his normally endless patience, who he had worn thin with bullshit. Yann for whom his apologies were no longer enough.

_Fix your issues, and then come back to us._

Fix his issues. Ok. He could try. He’d done it before. Pushed everything deep enough down no one would ever know. It had all been fine until Eliott came along. But now Eliott was gone. Back to his girlfriend. Back to being another in the long list of people who would never ever want him as he was.

Fix his issues. He could do this. Head up, heart closed.

* * *

Lucas had not, in fact, fixed his issues.

He had been looking over his shoulder near constantly since Monday. Waiting to turn around and find people laughing or jeering because Chloé had decided to spread her knowledge further afield than just her friend group. Waiting for Eliott to be there, looking sad and making Lucas’ heart speed up even as it cracked into pieces. Waiting for the boys to finally catch him unawares in the hallway, tell him they didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

He’d said he would fix it. But no matter how many nights his brain kept him awake, stuttering out ever less coherent plans for how he could stop being attracted to men, start being attracted to women, and convince everyone around him of this fact, all he had was the same damning conclusion. He was gay, and there was shit all he could do about it.

This, of course, did not end his spiral. Because he couldn’t fix that he was gay, but maybe he could fix whatever else was wrong. If he could just figure out what it was.

His dad had hated him well before he thought he was gay, and his mother had no clue but he’d still hurt her just by being around. So there had to be something else he could fix to make it all better.

By Wednesday night, or technically Thursday morning, he’d given up on trying to figure it all out. He was sleep deprived, no closer to an answer, unable to fall into blissful unconsciousness, and therefore watching shitty cop shows at 1 am in the morning.

He was so focused on making himself focus on what was happening on screen, rather than in his head, that he doesn’t even hear Manon approach.

Things aren’t okay with her. That much is obvious. She hasn’t been answering Charles’ calls, has been picking at her food, and he guesses, from the way her eyes had desperately caught his earlier today to ask for a distraction, she isn’t talking to the girls about what was going on either. He can kind of relate.

So, when he finally notices her there, standing almost in front of the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to invite her onto his couch bed. Pulls her close and tells her they don’t have to talk about it when her voice cracks over his name, tears filling her eyes. Holds her tight to his shoulder as she cries, feels his own dam finally break.

It was okay though. They couldn’t, and wouldn’t, try to fix each other. But they both knew, regardless of whether they were or weren’t ready to talk, the other would be there to offer comfort and understanding when they couldn’t find it anywhere else.

It was enough. For now, lying curled together until they both fell into fitful sleep, TV still on in the background, it was enough.

* * *

Something had to give eventually though.

His sleeping schedule hadn’t been this fucked since he’d left his dads place. He’d even started falling asleep in random places again: on the bus, in class, leaning against his locker, but never the couch where he was supposed to. It was driving him insane.

He’d gone to the school nurse hoping to find a solution. Had instead been given a speech about talking to people you trust. It made him desperately wish for the days when he’d been able to share everything with his mom, when his secrets hadn’t been too dangerous.

He’d almost blurted it all out to the nurse then. Asked her who he could talk to when it hardly felt safe admitting this stuff to himself, never mind anyone else.

Hadn’t. Just in case it got social services involved again. Had instead decided to talk to Yann, who had never been violent and had always been there for him.

Which backfired. Badly.

Yann had just walked away. Left him on a bench with his heart dripping onto the fucking floor.

 _I was right to begin with_ , he thought, _better to bury it deep and burn from the inside than let it free and burn from the out._

Better to pretend, than be alone watching his best friend - _not anymore, not anymore, maybe hadn’t been for a long time-_ stand up and leave him.

The world moves around him. When he finally manages focus again it’s because a school security man has placed a hand on his shoulder.

Everyone else is gone. His cheeks are wet.

He walks home instead of catching the bus.


	10. Chapter 10

When his flatmates finally decide to confront him he’s operating on zero hours sleep, over 12 hours of oscillating between numb and panic, and a glass of orange juice he’d consumed sometime after 4 am.

Point being, Lucas isn’t doing great.

He can feel himself teetering on the edge. The one that comes from missing so much sleep your mind starts to consider kicking into overdrive just to compensate. It’s not the best time for Mika to ask him about Eliott’s drawing.

Before he knows it, he’s yelling, frantically grabbing at the piece of paper Mika is holding tauntingly in his hand, collapsing back into the sofa when he finally catches up with himself, head going light and fizzy.

Fuck.

Mika and Manon crowd him on either side. He shuffles away, skin crawling at the proximity like it always does when he’s caught somewhere between being hyper aware and not knowing who the fuck he is.

Why can’t they just leave him alone? Why do they have to ask questions, and make valid points, and hold him when he cries to make him feel better? He doesn’t deserve this.

“We’re going to get you a mattress, okay? So you have something better than a couch to sleep on. Until Manon moves out, or we find a more permanent solution.” Mika’s voice is dim for once.

“Thanks.”

“And…and I’m really sorry. That we haven’t always made you feel welcome, part of the family. And that I didn’t try harder to reach out to you when I knew you were struggling. You’re always so grumpy and closed off and I thought you’d come to me when you were ready, but when you finally did I just threw it back in your face because you were insensitive. I mean, what you said was wrong and bad and offensive, but you’ve never been educated on any of this and you’ve obviously been internalising a lo-“ Lucas cuts off the tirade.

“No. No.” His voice is hard as steel, even with tears still clogging his throat, the self-loathing strengthening his words. “I was wrong, and there’s no excuse for what I said. You shouldn’t be sorry.”

“You’re right, there isn’t an excuse. I’m still sorry though. Because I shouldn’t have expected you to know better when no ones ever taught you how.”

“But I should ha-“

“No but’s. Manon, back me up.”

“Nope, no but’s Lucas. If you get to apologise for saying stupid shit, Mika gets to apologise for not explaining why it was stupid. Let someone else be sorry for once.”

“But he shouldn’t have to explain why it’s stupid.”

“You’re right. And he doesn’t have to. But he said he was there for you and then he wasn’t.”

“I thought you said no buts.” Lucas shoots her a weak smile to accompany the jab. She returns it with a small but genuine grin.

“Ah ah. That’s a Lucas only rule. I get as many but’s as I want.” Manon snuggles deeper into his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“Aww.” Mika’s voice interrupts. “You two are so sweet.” He rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure Lisa does the same. “Back to my original point though.”

“Woah, you actually had one?”

“Yes. Shut up. So, we get you a mattress, great, one problem solved. But we’ve still got the issue of that bitch who’s been outing you to the entire school.” Lucas’ heart stutters at the reminder, but he still mumbles out a defence.

“Chloé’s not a bitch Mika. I used her, she has every right to tell whoever she wants.” Mika gives him a hard look. “For fuck’s sa- Doesn’t matter. Where were you going with this anyway?”

“As I was saying, since that _bitch_ ” Lucas groans, “apparently thinks she has a right to your coming out, I suggest you own it in retaliation.” He sounds very pleased with his idea.

“I can’t do that Mika. I’m not proud yet. I’m not confident. _I’m not ready.”_

“I know. I know you’re not.” Mika’s tone is gentler now, full of sympathy. It might be worse than when he was smug. “She hasn’t given you that choice though. The chance to tell people on your own terms. And I’m really sorry about that. But what you can still do is say fuck her, and fuck everyone else who has a problem, and own it like it was your idea. Fake it till you make it and one day you’ll find a way to be proud for real.”

He stares at Mika in silence for a tense moment, mulling it over. He’s right, really. Everyone already knows anyway, better to take it like it is than hide for the rest of his life.

“Okay. If you think it will be easier that way.” Deep breath “Okay.” Mika practically smothers both him and Manon as he dramatically throws his arms around them.

“Promise kitten. Much easier than barricading the closet door while someone tries to rip it off.”

* * *

Everything was going exactly to plan.

He’d finally fallen over that edge from sluggish sleep deprived to bouncing off the walls sleep deprived. It just so happened to be the perfect state to be in while confirming to one’s friends you were, in fact, gay. Especially when you still weren’t exactly okay with this fact yourself. It was going swimmingly.

Until Yann had turned up in the common room.

What the fuck could he say to him? He didn’t want to lose him as a friend, but if his being gay meant Yann didn’t want to be around him then-

“Listen, I’m sorry if I-“ Yann interrupts the half formed sentence before it’s fully out of Lucas’ mouth. He’s glad, he has no idea where it was going.

“Wait.” A pause. Lucas holds his breath in anticipation of the blow. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that on Friday. I just needed time to think everything over.” Wait, what?

“I see.” He doesn’t. He has no idea what Yann’s getting at. He’d had every right to leave. Lucas had admitted to being twisted in a horribly perverse way, he’d just wished Yann could tolerate it enough to stand the sight of him. “But know that if I disgust you, or you’re ashamed-“

“Wait, you think that’s why I left?” Lucas shrugs. It seems obvious, regardless of what Manon had tried to convince him. “I have no problem with gays Lucas. Least of all with you. It was weird to know you had a thing for me, but that’s over now, right?”

“Totally.” It’s true, but honestly, Lucas would say anything right now if it got Yann to stay.

“It’s flattering, but I don’t want things to change between us because you like me.” That’s great, neither does Lucas anymore. “You’re my best friend.” And wait, what?

“Best friend?” Lucas blinks in confusion. He’d thought that- maybe after time they’d- but never tha-

“Of course.” He says it so simply, like it’s not the most important thing in Lucas’ world right now. “That’s why I didn’t react well. I’ve always told you everything. When things were going south at home, or with Emma,” Lucas suppresses a wince “always. But when I tried to talk to you, when you started acting weird, I-“

“I couldn’t.”

“That’s what pissed me off. Because in the end you managed to talk about it. To Mika, to the girls. Half the school knew before me.” And Yann’s right. If he hadn’t been such a coward, he would have told him before everyone else knew.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. You don’t have to be sorry.” _I do,_ Lucas thinks, _for so many things,_ “If you couldn’t talk to me it’s because you were afraid of my reaction. That I wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t deal with it. And I realised it was because I always made fun of you for being gay. Okay, it was jokes, I didn’t know, I swear. So, I’m sorry, for what I’ve said and done.” Lucas stares with wide eyes. It’s more than he’s ever hoped for.

“I’m sorry too. For not telling you before.”

“So, do we need to hug now? Like, without ambiguity?”

“Without ambiguity.” He barely gets it out without his voice cracking. Muffles his escaped sniffle against Yann’s shoulder as warm arms encircle him.

“Never again.” Yann’s voice is fierce, intimidating. “Never again go through something like that without telling me Lucas. I’m here, I promise.” And he nods in response, because it feels like a lot less of a lie than a verbal promise would be. Yann pulls away. “And with Eliott?” sharp inhalation at the name.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He makes sure it sounds final rather than desperate.

“Well to bad for him. Doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” _Or maybe he does, and that’s why he left, why he chose her instead of…_

“We were supposed to paint that together.” Lucas gestures to the mural.

“We could do it together, if you want. With Arthur and Basile.”

“Without Ambiguity?”

“Yeah.” Lucas smiles. He gets to keep this. He never thought he could, but in this second, this is his.

* * *

By Wednesday evening he’s come out to nearly everyone who matters.

He’d apologised to Imane for misdirecting his anger and insecurities at her faith, right after he’d finished teasing her for about being wrong for once. Had apologised to Chloé, for leading her on so callously, not considering her feelings.

Which means the only thing left, the only people who he both cares about and still don’t know he’s gay, are his parents. Which is great. Just brilliant.

It would be fine, really. He could happily live in denial forever when it comes to his parents and they’d all be happier and healthier for it. Except that his father’s step-kids go to his school.

The entire situation is a ticking time bomb. Lucas can either set it off himself and be ready for the explosion, or wait until someone else does it and be completely unprepared for the result. He just wishes either option gave him time to find a job that pays enough to cover rent, while not requiring him to work during school hours.

Despite the time sensitive nature of the final crucial item on his coming out checklist, Lucas is studiously ignoring the problem his parent’s rejection will soon present. Thinking about it does nothing but make him feel like bashing his head against a fucking brick wall until he passes out, considering most of the potential scenario’s seem to land somewhere between shitty and FUBAR on the outcomes scale.

He’d decided it was much more productive to stare at the drawings Eliott had delivered over the past weeks, looking for a single clue as to what the man actually wants from him. And, by productive, he means it’s now Friday and he still has no fucking ideas.

The boys are…surprisingly insightful on the matter when he asks them for advice. So he sends off a text, and then another, and then, oh shit, fuck, Eliott is on his way here, what the hell does he do?

It’s awkward at first. Stilted. Neither of them really saying anything.

Until Lucas throws some paint with a half-arsed flick of the wrist and suddenly Eliott is laughing, radiant and delighted in the amber light. Lucas can’t help but grin back.

“It’s good to see you smile. I missed it.” _Missed it,_ he thinks, _sure you did, especially while you were kissing your girlfriend._ He has to get it together. There’s a reason he’s been avoiding Eliott.

“You looked happy with Lucille last time I saw you.” And shit, that was a bit too passive aggressive for what Eliott probably saw as a casual fling. “It’s nice you’re on good terms again.” Was that better?

“You’re not allowed to say that.” No, it wasn’t better, it apparently just pissed him off.

“Why not?” May as well throw himself directly under the bus rather than just in front of it.

“Because none of it matters.” That hurts.

“Doesn’t matter?” As if Eliott is the only one who gets to decide. As if Lucas hasn’t been affected, hadn’t had his heart torn out.

“No.” Jesus, Lucas had been right. Eliott really didn’t give a shit about him. He’d thought, but he hadn’t known, not properly, not li- “Since I met you, you’re the only thing that’s mattered.” Lucas’ breathing cuts out.

What the- Did he really-How did he know it wasn’t-

Eliott turns back to the mural as Lucas stares on in shocked silence. _The only thing._ Can he believe him? Could he survive having been wrong to? Ca he stand to miss the chance regardless of the outcome? What was he meant to do?

Paint. He can paint. That’s doable.

He risks a glance at Eliott. He’s looking back. He’s beautiful. He’s missed him so much.

And then the fucker dabs his nose with a wet paint brush.

“Seriously?” Eliott just laughs at him, it’s contagious.

Lucas retaliates swiftly with his own wet paint brush, but the other boy doesn’t even pause to look offended before dunking both of his hands in open paint pots. Shit, he’s serious. Lucas dunks his own hands.

They circle each other with paint sodden hands outstretched, scanning each other’s bodies for any sign of movement, grinning so hard Lucas’ face hurt with it.

Eliott moves first, grabbing at his waist and smearing paint down his sides, but Lucas takes advantage of the proximity to draw parallel lines of colour down Eliott’s back, laughing the entire time.

Somehow, in the scuffle, Eliott manages to grab one of the paint bottles and distances himself to take aim. Lucas scoops up handfuls of paint to fire back as their battle turns into an all-out war.

He can’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun, been so carefree, so happy. And it’s because of Eliott. Will he ever get enough of this man?

They both come to a standstill, staring at each other from across the pool of paint they’ve created, and Lucas is having a hard time trying to remember why he’d ever thought this was a bad idea.

Something flutters in his chest, brain overwhelmed, and he can’t resist a second longer, so he takes a step forward and- yes yes yes yes yes.

A paint slick hand slips into his hair, tipping his head back. Eliott’s tongue hot in his mouth, stroking far too gently for the ferocity with which Lucas had initiated the kiss.

Lucas breaks away to whisper “More. Please.”

Eliott’s eyes search his, grey on blue, apparently finding what they’re looking for.

“Okay.”

In the space from one breath to the next Lucas is pushed up against the still wet wall, Eliott’s hands delving underneath Lucas’ ruined t-shirt, sucking on his bottom lip with just the slightest hint of teeth.

He must let out some kind of sound because Eliott lets go of his lip, pulls back to stare at Lucas for a long second, something like wonder in his eyes, before diving back in full force.

Their lips move against each other’s with just the right amount of pressure as Eliott sucks lightly on Lucas’ tongue until the shorter boy gets the message and licks deep into Eliott’s mouth. He’s rewarded for his efforts with a groan that vibrates between them and hands that move lower, gripping his ass to pull him closer.

Lucas wants Eliott’s hands back on his bare flesh though, so he grips the bottom of his own shirt to pull it over his head, pausing for only a second before hooking a hand behind the other boy’s neck to pull him down and reconnect their lips.

The paints still everywhere, their hair, their skin, the wall. It’s a miracle none has made its way between their mouths, but Lucas honestly wouldn’t care even if it had. He just wants more.

More of Eliott’s hot mouth against his own, more of the hands roaming the planes of his back while his own hands dip into the back of Eliott’s jeans, just more of everything.

Eliott pulls his own t-shirt over his head, paint specked hair sticking out in every direction, so Lucas just has to push his hands into the tangled mess, licking against the man’s lips before he’s pulled tight against a solid body and his mouth falls open in a gasp, the lips he’d just been exploring pressing onto his own before he can even draw a proper breath.

The restriction of his jeans is becoming uncomfortable fast. The pressure too much, too tight, and he’s scrambling to undo his own belt before he’s stopped to think about it.

Hands grasp, too tight, too unexpected, before it’s even half undone.

Lucas’ brain has never done a 180 so fast. From unbearably turned on to panic mode in less than 0.5 seconds.

Because those hands, they’re suddenly not Eliott’s. Gripping his wrists and pushing them into the wall. Just like his dad would right before he…when he was going to…When Lucas made him angry enough that…

“Sorry.” The word is choked, automatic, and there isn’t enough air in the room.

The hands holding his wrists lets go, and he flinches when they come to rest on his face, but nothing happens other than soothing thumbs running back and forth across his cheek bones. No pain of impact.

“…Hey, hey, it’s okay. Can you look at me? Please Lucas? Just look at me sweetheart.” The voice filters in through the panic, soft and gentle. Not his fathers. Eliott. Oh fuck, Eliott.

He looks up and meets the other man’s eyes, is offered a small worried smile.

“There you are. Are you okay? I just thought you’d prefer to get jeans off somewhere private, not an unlocked classroom, but then you just checked out when I grabbed your hands. What happened?”

Christ, Eliott must think he’s fucking weirdo. Who freaks out when someone touches their arms? What’s wrong with him?

“Nothing happened. I’m fine. Just caught up in the moment.” He extends his neck in an attempt to reconnect their lips but Eliott steps away, a frown marring his face.

“What happened Lucas? Did I do something you didn’t-“

“Nothing happened.” He snaps, annoyance flaring. He just wants to move on. Can’t Eliott just let his weird shit go?

“Okay. Nothing happened. We were just kissing and then you spaced out for no reason. Sure.” Apparently, he can’t.

“For fucks sake. Maybe you were so good I had an out of body experience or something, will you just drop it please?” He needs to calm down. Doesn’t know why he’s so angry. Eliott hasn’t actually done anything.

“Okay. Okay.” He seems genuine, somewhere between placating and apologetic. “I’m sorry for asking. You obviously don’t want to talk about it right now. I didn’t mean to pry where I wasn’t wanted.” And now he sounds like a kicked puppy. Lucas can’t stand it.

“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… whatever that was. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We’re both sorry. Lets just…finish painting the wall maybe? And then go use the locker room showers, we really need them.” Eliott’s smiling at him again, it’s only slightly forced. He appreciates the obvious effort to lighten the mood so much that the grin he returns is genuine.

“Yeh. That sounds good.”

They both find their shirts from where they’d been thrown on the floor, sharing a wince of commiseration as they shrug on the paint-soaked garments, before returning to the mural.

They’re quiet for a while after that, tense as they flick and brush paint onto the wall, haphazard in Lucas’ case, but with a suprising amount of precision and intent in Eliott’s.

They don’t break the silence until almost all of the paints are packed away.

“Why Jackson Pollock?” Eliott looks startled at the question.

“What?”

“Why Jackson Pollock?”

“Oh. I umm…I kinda thought…it was the most obvious way to…start a paint fight so- it’s just that- I didn’t get to take a shower with you that morning.” Elliot looks awkward and guilty. Lucas snorts.

“So, the entire plan was to get me naked, but you stopped me before I could even undo my belt?” He mocks, softening it with a grin. Eliott lets out an indignant huff.

“In the showers Lucas. Not an unlocked room with floor to ceiling windows.”

“They’re only one way.”

“Anyone could have walked in. Your friends could have come back!” Lucas swallows his laughter at Eliott’s petulant tone, and then registers the last sentence.

“How do you know my friends were here?” and now Eliott is laughing at him.

“I saw them running out of here, in the opposite direction, down the hallway. I think the one with glasses winked.”

“Oh my god.” He hides his face in his hands.

“It’s sweet that you kicked them out.”

“Oh my god, stop.”

“That you wanted to get me alone.”

“Please, no.” He drags the o out into a whine, drops the hands from his face when he feels Eliott’s hand caress his hip, wonders when he’d moved so he was standing in from of him. He looks up to meet the man’s intense gaze.

“The murals done.” Lucas wets his lips.

“Yeh?”

“Yeh.” Eliott pulls him closer, leans in so his mouth is almost touching Lucas’ ear. “I think we should go take that shower now, if you want?” He shivers at the feeling of Eliott’s hot breath against his skin, interlaces their fingers.

“I want.” And then he uses his grip on Eliott’s hand to drag the boy, speedy and giggling, in the direction of the school’s changing rooms.

He barely pauses, giving himself only enough time to make sure the room is unoccupied, before he’s pushing Eliott into a shower stall and pressing their lips together in a frantic kiss.

It’s just the right side of too much. The way they push up against each other just that bit too hard, or their tongues tangle just that bit too fast, all heat and desperation rather than finesse. Lucas never wants it to end.

He reaches a hand down to fumble at Eliott’s belt buckle, pulls back just enough to breathe the words “Is this okay?” against the man’s lips. He has Eliott’s fly undone, and lips pressed back into his own, within seconds of the raspy “Yes” he receives in reply.

Denim hits the floor and is unceremoniously kicked under the stall door, followed soon after by two paint spattered t-shirts and a second pair of jeans.

Lucas kisses along newly exposed collar bone, licks up the pale column of Eliott’s throat before sucking a mark there.

“What do you want to do?” He asks breathlessly, nuzzling into the hollow at the base of Eliott’s neck.

“I-ahh, fuck Lucas.” The words fade into a groan as Lucas lightly drags his teeth against Eliott’s Adam’s apple while pressing a hand against the hard line of his cloth covered cock. “I-that is- can I please- oh god- I want to fuck your thighs.”

Lucas would have been prouder at having reduced the gorgeous man before him into stuttering mess, if not for the fact his own thought processes had shut down the moment Eliott’s words hit him. The image of it playing out in his mind, the way he would see the head of Eliott’s dick peering out between his thighs on every thrust, feel the heavy drag of it against his taint, brushing past his tightly drawn balls. His mouth goes dry as he lets out a desperate moan.

“Please. Yes. I want that to. Please. Shit”

Eliott responds by leaning down to lick into his mouth, suck lightly on his tongue, one hand cupping Lucas’ jaw while the other threads through his hair. Lucas has to grip the man’s hips to stay standing.

“Underwear. Then I can turn on the water. Make the slide easier.” Lucas doesn’t bother to respond verbally, too busy panting and pushing briefs down his legs. Eliott only stares at him for several seconds before following suit, using his foot to push both pairs under the door.

“You’re beautiful.” Lucas has no idea how to respond to that, coming from someone who looks like Eliott, so he nips at Eliott’s bottom lip until the boy leans down to kiss him, hoisting Lucas onto the balls of his feet so he can meet him half way.

The hands holding his thighs travel upward slightly, hitching where the curve of Lucas’ ass begins, and then fingers start to rub gently between his cheeks. He whimpers. No one has touched him like this before.

“Sensitive?” Eliott whispers into his ear, tugging the lobe with his teeth as he pulls away. Another whimper, higher pitched.

“Please.”

“I’m gonna turn on the water, okay baby?” a nod. Eliott turns the showers nob, crowds Lucas into a corner to avoid the initial cold jets, kissing along his neck. It’s a failed attempt, the showers too small to avoid the freezing stream of water.

“Oh fuck, fuck, that’s so cold.”

“Yeh, shit, sorry. Should have thought that through. Just wait a second.” And so they wait, erections wilting, shivering while the water slowly heats up enough to be bearable.

“I think it’s warm enough now. Come on.” Two hands grasp his own, leading him under the spray. He follows willingly. “Can I wash your hair?”

The question startles him. Less than a minute ago they’d both been half hard, are still standing pressed against each other, naked and wet. The idea is ridiculous really.

“Yeh.” Lucas replies, despite the heat that’s once again beginning pooling in his gut, at the base of his spine. Eliott’s answering smile is worth it.

There is only shitty wall pump soap available to use, but Lucas, who’d relied on cheap body wash to clean both his hair and skin for months before Mika had discovered this fact and thrust twin bottles of shampoo and conditioner into his hands one morning, could not care less if it gets more of Eliott’s hands on him.

The first pull is glorious. Sudsy hands pressing firmly into his scalp, kneading beneath wet hair, pulling away to coat the full length. Lucas’ eyes flicker shut, his soft groan echoing in the space between them.

Eliott keeps working at his scalp until every strand of hair is coated with colourful bubbles and Lucas has slumped forward to rest his head on the warm shoulder in front of him. Eliott doesn’t even comment on the tired yawn Lucas releases against his skin, simply moves on to rubbing firm hands up and down Lucas’ back in a figure of eight pattern, leeching the remaining tension from his muscles until all that’s left is a boneless heap, lulled half asleep by steady pulse beneath his cheek.

The exhaustion of the past few weeks seem to catch up with him all at once.

“Hey.” Eliott’s voice is soft, barely audible over the noise of the shower.

“Mmff.” The chest beneath Lucas’ cheek shifts with laughter. “What?”

“You’ve got to wash the soap out, and the hot water’s probably going to run out soon, so move your head sleeping beauty.”

“Don’t wanna. Tired.” Lucas lifts a hand to pat the opposite side of Eliott’s chest, “Comfy.” More movement, laughter again.

“Come on.” Hands on his shoulders, moving his head away from its pillow. Rude. “Rinse, then we can find a proper bed for you to sleep in.”

Lucas stares at the man in front of him, blinking slowly as his senses return. He groans.

“Fuck.” He draws out the k, takes a step back. “I said you could- and then I- We were going to- I’m so sorry.” Eliott’s hands come up to cup his face.

“Hey. No. Nothing to be sorry for. We can do that anytime. You need sleep now, you look like you haven’t gotten any in weeks.”

“Gee, thanks, that’s so nice of you.” Lucas huffs, relaxes back against Eliott anyway.

“You know what I mean. I’ve been worried. And your hand. Anyway, head, water. Now. Then bed.”

“And you’ll be in the bed?”

“Yeh, I’ll be in the bed.”

“Okay then.”

So he lets Eliott guide his head under the tepid spray until he is suds free, and then helps the other boy scrub the remaining paint from his own body, before they both share the soft towel someone has left behind in the locker room to pat themselves dry.

The shower turns out to be a bit pointless though, since the only clothes they have are still covered in half dry paint that transfers when they put them on. But it still turns out to be enough of an improvement that they’re allowed on the bus to Lucas’ flat, no one even stares that hard when he rests his head in the nook of Eliott’s neck and dozes off for half the journey.

They try to make as little noise as possible getting into the apartment, but the mattress Mika’s acquired takes a fair amount of manoeuvring. Plus, Eliott clocks on that Lucas’ ribs are ticklish as hell, after accidently running too light fingers along them, which means the they create a fair cacophony of banging, giggling and cries of “Eliott, Eliott, please.” before finally settling down. Lucas is not looking forward to explaining that to his flatmates.

Eliott is sprawled out on the mattress, with Lucas curled tightly into his side, both still breathing heavily from their tickle war. Lucas fills the air with a final confession.

“I’ve missed you as well, you know? So please don’t go and leave again.”

There is silence for a long moment, in which Lucas worries he’s said too much, but then Eliott leans down to kiss the top of his head.

“I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

And it’s enough. For now, as he falls asleep easier than he has in weeks, it’s enough.


	11. Chapter 11

He wakes up alone.

The opposite side of the bed is cold and empty except for his phone and the covers. Eliott is gone.

He can’t even say it’s a surprise. He’d been expecting it. Knew how unlikely it was that Eliott would choose him, that he would stay.

Still, in a small corner of his heart, Lucas had believed if he just held on tight enough while he fell asleep Eliott would still be there in the morning. The joke was on him really, for having enough hope to be disappointed.

He grabs his phone to check the time, clicks the home button to find a text from his dad.

_Your mother would like us to come to mass next week. I hope you’ll be available._

Fuck. Okay. Oh fuck. What’s he supposed to do with that?

Lucas lets out a long calming breath and clicks off his phone. He needs to think about this logically.

The text is a demand, that’s not even in question. Lucas is expected to either do as he’s told or accept the consequences when they’re delivered. The only reprieve is that he has a week to respond, to think of a way out of it.

If his mom has asked his father to invite him she’s likely lucid right now. Which is good news, after the slip she’s just gone through…but also bad news, because when she’s okay she knows going through his father is the best way to get a response. It really fucks with his system.

The system goes like this: every Sunday morning he sends her a text, regardless of her mental state or previous messages, to tell her he loves her. He will not send her any other messages. At least twice a week he will text her outpatient team asking after her, and then will ignore them when they tell him she wants to see him. His mother will only try to call him when she is sick, and he will never pick up the phone but will always listen to the voice message afterwards, and there is always a voice message. In this way, she is never disrupted by Lucas’ presence, and he’s still able to make sure she’s safe.

It’s a fool proof system that limits all potential damage. Until his father gets involved.

It’s only actually happened twice before. The first time he’d managed to get out of it by virtue of his mother calling his dad one too many times, making him flip out and cancel the meeting. The second his mother had not turned up to because she was ‘stressed’, as his father put it, likely due to the meeting.

It had only reinforced to Lucas that his presence was detrimental to his mom’s mental health and to be avoided at all costs. Something his father had bought to his attention in the first place. Unfortunately, his dad seemed to care much more about Lucas’ mother not bothering him than maintaining her mental health. Hence todays text.

How the fuck is he going to avoid it this time?

He hears a clatter from the kitchen, several voices. One of them laughs and it sounds like Eliott, except it can’t possibly be…?

Lucas shoves his legs into a pair of boxers, heads towards the commotion.

He’s there. Eliott’s there. Standing in the flat’s kitchen, joking with Manon and Mika.

Lucas doesn’t understand. He’d thought for sure Eliott had disappeared, gone back to Lucille, left Lucas as the half-done notch in his bed post who wasn’t even worth the effort of finishing off. But there he is, stirring a pan full of god-knows-what and not correcting Lisa when she assumes the noise they made last night was them fucking. It doesn’t feel real.

Mika says something about dick and Manon and lacking it, and suddenly they’re on their own in the small kitchen with neither of them saying anything.

“Your roommates are cool.” Great. Small talk. He’s amazing at small talk.

“No, they’re mostly crazy.” It’s flippant, a half reply that fails to truly summarise the dysfunctional family he’s found himself on the edges of. He really doesn’t want to discuss his roommates right now.

A silence stretches between them again, tense and sharp in its nature.

“Are you okay?” He looks up to meet Eliott’s eyes, considers the question.

This is the part where he should say _I’m fine_. Insert a small smile that’s not big enough to seem fake, turn the question around before anyone notices it doesn’t reach his eyes. For some reason, he doesn’t.

“I thought you’d left this morning.” The sentence comes out in a half-tangled rush. He needs Eliott to understand.

“Well, no, I’m here, see?” Eliott turns back to the stove, starts to say something about the food. Lucas just can’t let it go.

“What I mean is that, I thought you’d left…like the other day, with Lucille.”

“But Lucas, I mean, why would I do that?” Lucas’ mind immediately supplies a long list of reasons, the same ones that have been tormenting him since he’d seen Eliott and Lucille practically eating each other’s faces at that party. “Lucille and I aren’t together anymore.”

The words are such a close parallel to the ones Eliott had told him the first time around. The time he’d lied. It makes Lucas’ throat close up.

“Stop it.” He swallows hard. “The last time you told me that, I found you with your tongue down her throat at Chloé’s.”

Eliott pushes himself off the counter, moves towards him. Lucas draws in a breath and tries to shrink into himself, not sure what to expect after calling him out so blatantly, holds himself still when hands come up to cup his jaw, forcing eye contact.

“You know, Lucille knows me by heart.” _Oh fuck_ Lucas thinks, _this is it._ He’d thought it would be better, to be told that he wasn’t wanted, that he was the lesser option, rather than finding out on his own. Now he’s not so sure. “So yeah, for a time she made me believe we had to get back together. And you didn’t seem ready. I don’t know. I freaked out.”

What?

Lucas doesn’t…It sounds like…

Why had Eliott freaked out? Why had he looked so happy with Lucille if it was all her?

“Why?” He doesn’t ask for anything specific, to unsure of if he wants to hear the answer.

“I was afraid that…that you wouldn’t want anything serious.” It doesn’t really answer any of Lucas’ questions, but he searches Eliott’s eyes and see’s insecurity reflecting back at him. If there’s anything Lucas can understand, it’s that.

“No, but I do want something serious.”

Eliott smiles and pushes his forehead against Lucas’. Lucas doesn’t return the grin, too wrung out and unsure to even try, but he does press his head back against Eliott’s.

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere right now.”

 _Please don’t,_ Lucas thinks desperately, _not ever._ “Oh yeah?” he says.

Eliott kisses him in response. Soft at first, and then quickly growing heated. A hand snaking into Lucas’ hair, tipping his head back by pulling the soft strands at his nape. A tongue teasing the seam of his mouth until he lets it fall open, searing as it strokes against his own.

A high keening sounds finds its way from Lucas’ throat into the air, making him suddenly glad for the table he’s resting against because his knees might just give out any second.

Eliott moves away. Places a hand on Lucas’ chest when he tries to follow, neck straining forward, a confused furrow forming between his brow.

“What are yo-“

“Foods going to get cold.” Eliott is grinning as he says it.

“But I thought-“ He is interrupted by a quick peck on the corner of his mouth.

“Later. First, we’re going to eat this, and then we can go satisfy the other kind of craving.” Lucas can’t help the snort that escapes him. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You.” A frown begins to form on Eliott’s face and Lucas works quickly to prevent it from spreading, placing a hand on his cheek. “No. I mean. It’s just- That line was terrible. ‘the other kind of craving’, who the fuck can say that with a straight face?”

Eliott lets out an offended huff but there is a smile tugging at the edge of his cheeks.

“Me, you dick. Maybe you don’t deserve my wonderful food.”

“Oh no.” Lucas dead pans, playing along. “How will I ever survive without eggy fennel and cinnamon surprise?”

“Fuck you, I’m a culinary genius. The world just isn’t ready for my masterpiece yet, I’m an artist out of time.” They’re both giggling now, standing pressed close together. It’s ridiculous, and stupid, and so right Lucas could almost cry with it. He’s so gone for this man.

“Oh yeah? Let’s try it then.”

“Of course, sir.” Eliott replies, giving a playful bow before presenting Lucas with a spatula full of the mystery dish. Lucas gives it a suspicious sniff, is briefly reassured by the inoffensive smell, and then he takes a bite.

It’s horrible. One of the top ten worst things he’s ever tasted, and he’d dumpster dived for out of date food when he was still living with his mom and didn’t have the money. You were never quite sure which café’s spoiled food before throwing it.

He gags and dives for the sink, Eliott laughing behind him, the evil shit.

“Oh god.” He spits more bile into the sink. “That’s bad. Did you know how bad that was gonna be?”

“No, no. I swear I thought it would be good.” But Eliott is still laughing, even if he’s stroking Lucas’ back as he does, so it isn’t all that convincing. He’s also got his phone out to film the incident.

“Jesus. You’re the worst. I’m never letting you cook again. That’s awful.”

“I’m sorry. I swear, I thought it would taste okay.”

“Yeh, well, it doesn’t. Please get me a glass.” Eliott, to his credit, puts the phone away and does as he’s asked, placing the glass in Lucas’ hand so it’s easier for him to gargle the liquid and get rid of the taste. “Ugh, gross.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Fine, you try it then.” Lucas picks up the pan and shoves it in Eliott’s face.

“No. Nope. No way. It made you gag.” He says it while taking the pan out of Lucas’ hand, unceremoniously dumping its content in the bin.

“Fuck you, you made it, why am I the only one who has to suffer?”

“Cause you’re my boyfriend, that makes it your job.” Lucas’ breath catches but Eliott takes no notice, “Eating my awful cooking and pretending it’s good. You’re doing a terribly at that last part, by the way.”

“Boyfriend?” The word comes put high pitched and panicked.

“Oh shit. I mean. Yeah, you said you wanted serious, so I thought you wanted to be-“

“Of course I want to be, I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to-“

“Obviously I want to be.” Lucas can’t contain his smile. “So, boyfriends?”

“Boyfriends.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.” Eliott laughs at him.

“So, what are we having for breakfast? Because mine was a failure and I’m really hungry right now.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I actually know how to cook, so as long as you haven’t used everything in the fridge I’ll be able to sort something out.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So talented.” And then Eliott kisses him.

Breakfast takes a while to get made.

* * *

“You realise they left so we could have sex, right?” Eliott shifts his head, looking up at Lucas from his lap as he says it.

“Yeh, I know. They really weren’t subtle.” Lucas goes back to running his hand through Eliott’s hair, holding back his pout at having his access restricted by the new position.

“And…” The sentence is left hanging.

“And what?”

“Did you wanna, you know, take advantage?” the words are accompanied by a suggestive raise of Eliott’s eyebrows, a cheeky wink. Lucas snorts.

“You were literally asleep on me less than a minute ago, you sure you have the energy for that kind of exertion?”

“Course, that’s exactly why I have the energy. Quick power nap to make sure I can keep up with you.” Eliott slips a hand underneath his hoodie, running gentle fingers up and down from his hips to his chest. “Plus, I figured you’d want to stake your claim, what with the jealous girlfriend act on Instagram.”

“Arrrghhh.” Lucas groans, shoving his head back into the couch pillows. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

“You literally posted it to a public forum. How was I going to not see it?” Eliott needs to stop laughing at him.

“I don’t know. Shut up. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Oh yeah? Was it because my mouth was so close to your dick?” Lucas’ brain stops working.

“What the fuck? You can’t just say shit like that.” It comes out way breathier than he intended.

“I just did baby. My mouth could be closer though. If you wanted it to be.”

“Oh my god.”

“Is that a yes?”

“ _Oh my god.”_

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” And suddenly Eliott is on his knees in front of Lucas, unzipping his fly like this is just another normal afternoon activity.

“Fucking hell.” Eliott’s answering grin is practically predatory as he pulls Lucas’ quickly hardening member from his boxers, stroking it a couple of times before pressing a kiss to its head. Lucas is panting.

Eliott licks a long stripe along the underside of Lucas’ cock, dipping his tongue into the ridge around the head and then using it to lathe attention on the sensitive tip. He makes eye contact as he strokes him a couple more times and then wraps his lips tight around Lucas’ dick. Lucas is pretty sure he’s dead.

He lets out some embarrassing garble of lost syllables, too lost in the sensation for articulate thought. Gets louder when Eliott lowers the wet heat of his mouth further onto his length, lips stretched obscene and spit slick.

“Are you sure? Are you sure? You don’t have to. It’s so good, but you don’t have to.” Lucas isn’t sure how he gets the words out, panting and experiencing another mans mouth on his dick for the first time in his life, but he somehow manages it. Has to make sure Eliott wants this, since he doesn’t owe Lucas a favour.

Eliott pulls off with a wet pop, saliva still connecting him to Lucas. “Nothing I want more right now.” He says. And then goes right back to sucking Lucas’ cock.

“Oh fuck.” Lucas lets out a long stream of expletives and is incredibly glad his room mates cleared out. He isn’t going to last long, and he isn’t going to keep quiet.

Eliott’s hands are resting on his thighs, gripping and rubbing in grounding circles that make Lucas twitch every time they reach their apex. His mouth is applying hot, hard suction to Lucas’ member, bobbing hot and rhythmic, never once pushing too far and choking. When he curls his tongue around the head on downward stoke Lucas barely restrains himself from bucking up, into the sensation, and coming right there and then.

It doesn’t take long for him to actually go off. Eliott’s clearly somewhat experienced and Lucas has never had a mouth around his dick that wasn’t attached to a person of the opposite gender, so it’s not really surprising. It is a little embarrassing though.

“Eliott, Eliott, you’ve got to, I’m going to-“ Lucas cuts off into a moan, white knuckling the sofa to keep himself from coming, whimpering when Eliott pulls off.

“Go on, I’ve got you, come on sweetheart.” Eliott’s voice is halfway to wrecked, in combination with the sight of his red, swollen lips, and the hand now wrapped around Lucas’ dick, it’s deadly. Lucas comes in less than three full strokes.

It’s hard, and messy, and he’s not quite sure what kind of noises he’s making but they don’t sound human.

“That’s it, go on, you’re gorgeous. Jesus, it’s everywhere.” Lucas lets out a whine at him, moving to bat his hand away from where it’s still stoking his over-sensitised cock. He lets go. “That was amazing.” Lucas nods in agreement and pulls Eliott up from the floor, pushing him into the sofa with a deep, searching kiss.

Eliott must have undone his own fly at some point, because his dick is already hanging out of his underwear, rock hard and leaking pre-come. Lucas’ mouth waters and he goes to his knees.

He doesn’t mess around. Zero build up or teasing. Just sinks his mouth around Eliott, breathing through his nose before concentrating hard and swallowing around him.

“Jesus fuck. Lucas- oh my god, what-how, Lucas.” Eliott’s not making sense so Lucas only responds with a hum around his dick, pulling off just enough to get another breath and a taste of bitter, salty pre-come, before ducking back down and swallowing him to the root.

The carpeted floor of the flats living room is a decided improvement from the concrete of secluded alleyways, so Lucas does his best to concentrate on this and the sound of Eliott’s soft groans to avoid the way his heart wants to speed up and clog his throat. It’s just a blow job. He’s done this before. He should be fine, he needs to repay Eliott for the favour.

He does his best to keep a steady rhythm, spacing out heavy suction between hard licks and pulling Eliott down his throat, focusing on the ebb and flow of his method rather than the way he misses a breath when Eliott puts hands in his hair, almost pulls away when Eliott loses a bit of control and hits the back of Lucas’ throat without warning. It’s fine. It’s worth it for the sounds Eliott is making, the breathy praise he keeps muttering, the way Lucas can enjoy the heavy weight of dick on his tongue when he gets lost in it enough.

Eliott must have already been pretty worked up, because it only takes minutes before he’s muttering desperately “Lucas, Lucas, please. I’m gonna come. Please-“. Lucas doesn’t let up though, doubles down and flicks his tongue just right so that Eliott spills down his throat. People always like you more when you swallow.

He pulls off Eliott’s now softening cock and licks his lips, pulling in harsh breaths and forcing his heart to calm the fuck down. It helps when Eliott pulls him up to press him into his chest, heedless of the mess still covering Lucas.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” Eliott asks, still breathless and panting. “That was insane.”

Lucas shrugs and hides his face in Eliott’s side. “Dunno, just talented I guess.” He lets out a yawn and scratches his ear, “Ugh, I’m so sticky. I’m going to have to do laundry because of you.”

“Shut up. You weren’t complaining earlier.” Eliott winds and arm around him to tuck him in tighter. “We should shower.”

“Uh huh.” Another yawn.

“You can’t fall asleep with come on you.”

“Can to.” Lucas replies petulantly, burrowing into the juncture of Eliott’s shoulder and neck, pressing a lazy kiss into his collarbone. He gets one in his hair in payment and lets out a satisfied huff.

“Nope, no falling asleep with come still on you, it’s a rule, come on.” Eliott’s clearly learnt because he doesn’t wait for a reply, simply stands up and leaves Lucas to flop into the sofa as he tugs at his hands.

“Ugh. No.”

“Come on. I’ll even do your hair for you. I know you liked that last time. There’ll even be proper shampoo.”

“Argh. Fine.” Lucas does his best to look put upon as he allows himself to be dragged to his feet. “If I have to.”

He’s pretty sure the speed with which he walks into the bathroom and immediately shoves shampoo into Eliott’s hand gives him away, but Eliott doesn’t comment and Lucas doesn’t care. It’s totally worth delaying his nap.

* * *

When Eliott eventually leaves, late on Sunday afternoon, Lucas tries his level best not to chain him to a radiator instead of letting him get back to his parents.

Instead, he presses a desperate, minute long, not-suitable-for-public kiss into the soft lips he’s spent most weekend getting acquainted with, and wraps himself around Eliott in a steel band of affection before he finally has to let go.

He gets one final kiss, soft and chaste, and a promise of a text, prior to Eliott actually departing the flat, but a tight feeling still fills Lucas’ chest. Desperate and clawing for him to after Eliott.

He doesn’t give in though. Doesn’t run after Eliott no matter how many times his head tries to convince him he’ll never see him again if he doesn’t, that he’ll suddenly decide to hate him if he’s not there.

He also doesn’t give in to the part of his brain that says a little bit of coke will make him feel better about the whole thing. He’s almost out and he doesn’t have money to get much more anytime soon, so it’s a bad idea.

He manages a solid five hours sleep that night and manages to completely forget about his dads text. He’s doing great. He swears he’s doing great.


End file.
